Love at Second Sight
by Violaceae
Summary: On board the Hogwarts Express, eleven-year-old Harry Potter receives a tantalizing glimpse into his own future. But where did this foreknowledge come from? And more importantly, how can he make it come true? A fairly fluffy first-year fic. Harry/Hermione. Mentor!Trelawney. Manipulative!Dumbledore.
1. Fast Friends

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

The girl had a seriousness about her that immediately impressed Harry. It was when he saw her face, however, that he knew.

One day, he would marry Hermione Granger.

Wait—where did _that_ thought come from? And how did he even know her name?

Suddenly realizing he was staring, Harry shut his mouth and turned to look at Ron, who had just said something.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" Hermione asked, looking excitedly at the wand in Ron's hand. "Let's see it then."

She stepped into the compartment and sat down next to Harry, causing his stomach to flip.

"Er—all right," said Ron. He raised his wand and chanted:

 _"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_  
 _Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

But nothing happened.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said Hermione.

Harry started to laugh, but quickly covered it with a cough as Ron's ears turned red. Hermione was right, though—that spell was nothing like the ones he'd read in his school books. And Ron, whose whole family was magical, surely should have known better. Harry quit coughing just in time to hear Hermione introduce herself.

"—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

Hermione smiled politely at him before turning to Harry.

"H-Harry Potter," he stammered.

"Are you really?" she said. "I've read all about you, of course—"

Harry felt his face burning as she listed all the books he was apparently in. "Am I?" he asked, feeling overwhelmed.

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it was me."

"I didn't even know I was magic," Harry blurted out, trying to save face.

"Oh?" said Hermione. She looked at him curiously, but Harry didn't elaborate. "Then I don't suppose you know what House you'll be in, either? Well, I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best—"

Harry nodded dumbly, suddenly discovering that he, too, wanted nothing more than to be sorted into Gryffindor. Though now that Hermione mentioned it, he didn't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, either …

"—Anyway, Neville and I had better keep looking, so goodbye for now," said Hermione.

Harry snapped out of his reverie to say goodbye to Hermione, and wondered why he was so easily distracted today. It seemed every time he looked at Hermione, his mind turned to mush.

The moment the compartment door had clicked shut, Ron started grumbling: "Bloody know-it-all. Whatever House I'm in, I hope she's not in it." He went to throw his wand back into his trunk, but the dark scowl on Harry's face froze him in his seat.

" _Shut up!_ " Harry practically shouted. "Don't say anything bad about her!" he cried, jumping out of his seat. He didn't know it, but his already messy hair was beginning to stand on end as the air around him crackled with electricity. "I think she's brilliant! And if you don't"—Harry fixed Ron with a hard stare as his magic flared again—"then that just shows what a stupid git you are!"

And with that parting shot, he stormed out of the compartment, leaving a pale and frightened Ron Weasley behind.

Out in the corridor, Harry needed several deep breaths to calm down. He hadn't intended to fly off the handle like that, but he was still proud of himself for standing up for Hermione—especially against the first boy who had ever wanted to be his friend. Now that it was over, though, he couldn't help but wonder if it had been wise to burn that bridge so spectacularly. He did need a place to sit, after all …

Harry's doubts were short-lived, however, for when he peeked through the glass door of the next compartment and spotted the bushy brown hair of his future bride inside, all thoughts of that rude redhead faded instantly from his mind. He had only a moment to try to compose himself before the door slid open and Hermione exited the compartment.

"Oh, hello, Harry!" she said, smiling cheerfully even as she nearly collided with him. "What are you doing out here? Did you find Trevor?"

"Er—Trevor?"

"Neville's toad," she explained. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No, I haven't seen him. I thought maybe I could help you look, though," said Harry.

Hermione beamed at him. "Of course you can help! Neville's gone back to check our compartment again, so we'll just keep asking if anyone's seen a toad."

"Sounds good to me," said Harry.

So they worked their way down the corridor, asking in each compartment if anyone had seen Neville's toad. When they reached the end of the carriage, they moved on to the next one—and then the next one. Harry would have happily followed Hermione to the end of the train, but after searching a fourth carriage without any luck, she'd had enough.

"This is ridiculous," she said. "How could a big fat toad disappear without a trace?"

"He must be here somewhere," said Harry. "Unless … Hermione, have you actually _seen_ Trevor?"

"No, I haven't. Neville was looking for him when we met." She looked sideways at Harry. "You're not suggesting …"

"Isn't it possible? Neville could have lost him at the station or even left him at home."

Hermione bit her lip. "You may be right…. Come on, we'll have to ask Neville when Trevor went missing."

She led Harry back to her and Neville's compartment, where they found the boy searching on his hands and knees for his lost toad. He looked up the moment they entered.

"Did you find him?"

"Sorry, Neville. No one's seen him," said Hermione.

"Oh no," moaned Neville. "I've lost him!"

Taking a seat next to Hermione, Harry did his best to ignore the nervous flutter in his stomach as his arm inadvertently brushed against hers.

"Listen, Neville," he said gently, not wanting to upset the poor boy any further. "When did you last see Trevor?"

Neville got a faraway look in his eyes as he tried desperately to remember.

"When did you first miss him?" asked Hermione. "Was it on the train?"

"It was … hang on … I think—yeah, he was definitely on the train," said Neville. "I remember Gran handing him to me through the window."

"That's good," said Hermione. "At least we know he's here somewhere."

"Maybe we should take a little break. He might turn up on his own," Harry suggested hopefully.

"Harry's right," said Hermione. "Trevor might come back on his own when he gets hungry."

Neville didn't seem convinced, but he agreed with the plan and thanked Harry and Hermione for all their help so far.

"Don't mention it, Neville. We're glad to help," said Harry, earning himself an approving smile from Hermione as she lifted a heavy book from her trunk. Harry felt a surge of confidence and resolved to do all he could to make Hermione smile at him like that again. "What are you reading, Hermione?" he asked.

"It's _Hogwarts, A History_." She held the book up proudly. "I've already read it, of course, but I'm so excited to get to Hogwarts that I thought I'd have another look through it."

Harry, who was quite eager to get to Hogwarts himself, chuckled at Hermione's sheepish grin. "Could I read it with you?" he said. "I don't know very much about Hogwarts, except what Hagrid told me."

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed, moving the book so it was spread across both of their laps. "Here, I want to show you one of my favorite parts," she said, rifling through the pages.

She must have read the book more than once, thought Harry, as she found the page she was looking for almost immediately.

"Here it is," she said, pointing to a moving photograph that filled the page. "It's the ceiling of the Great Hall. It's bewitched to look like the sky outside."

"Whoa!" said Harry.

"I know, I can't wait to see it for real!"

The rest of the afternoon passed rather quickly as Harry and Hermione read about the fascinating history of Hogwarts and Neville filled in odd bits of information he had learned from his family. From the way Neville talked, it sounded like his grandmother could have written her own history of the school.

Hours later, when they had journeyed over rolling hills and through wild forests and past steep mountains never plotted on any map, Harry looked up from Hermione's book to see a big brown toad sitting on the seat next to Neville.

"Neville, look!"

"Trevor!" Neville shouted, joyfully scooping the toad into his pocket.

"It's a good thing he turned up, I'd forgotten he was missing," said Hermione.

"Me too," admitted Neville.

Hermione checked her watch. "Anyway, I expect we're almost there," she said.

The train did seem to be slowing down. A minute later, an announcement by the conductor confirmed it: they had arrived at Hogwarts. Harry, who still had not changed into his school robes, excused himself and hurried back to the compartment where he'd left his trunk. When he got there, he found it empty; Ron must have gone to sit with someone else. Harry pulled a set of black robes out of his trunk and dressed quickly so he could return to Hermione and Neville before they left the train.

"That was fast," Neville remarked when Harry pushed his way through the crowded corridor to rejoin them. The round-faced boy laughed as Harry nervously smoothed his robes.

"You look fine," Hermione assured him, though she never took her eyes off the window where Hogsmeade Station was waiting outside. "Oh, I'm so excited!" she squealed.

Feeling another surge of confidence after Hermione's compliment, Harry took her hand and led the way through the crowd of students with Neville trailing behind them.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" a familiar voice called across the noisy platform.

They slipped between the older students to line up in front of Hagrid.

"All right there, Harry? C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years?" said Hagrid. With a wave of his enormous hand, he led them down a steep path. "Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here."

Harry heard Hermione gasp, and many of the first years stopped in their tracks at the sight of the ancient castle, which loomed impressively over a great black lake.

"It's beautiful," whispered Hermione.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a dozen tiny boats floating at the water's edge.

Harry helped Hermione into a boat and hoped she didn't think he was acting too strangely. He knew eleven-year-old boys weren't supposed to be so chivalrous. But, he asked himself for the hundredth time since they'd met, how else was a boy supposed to act when he somehow _knows_ he'll marry the girl he just met?

And how did he know that, anyway? He supposed it was some sort of magic, since he'd never heard of such a thing in the Muggle world. He wished he could just ask Hermione, since she was the most knowledgeable witch he'd met so far, but obviously that wasn't an option. He'd have to find someone— _anyone_ —else to answer this particular question.

Harry smiled as Neville joined them in their boat. He didn't know the shy boy very well yet, but Hermione seemed to be his friend and that was recommendation enough. Besides, Neville and his toad were, in a way, responsible for introducing Harry to his future wife—for that, Harry would be eternally grateful.

Looking around at the rest of his classmates, Harry noticed that Ron and another boy had taken the next boat over. The redhead was still a bit pale under his freckles, like he hadn't quite gotten over his fright.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid from the head of the fleet. "Right then—FORWARD!"

Everyone was silent as their boats glided across the smooth lake, slowly approaching the cliff on which Hogwarts castle stood. Harry watched Hermione as they all ducked under the ivy-covered cliff face. She was positively buzzing with anticipation, her brown eyes filled with wonder as they took in every detail of the little underground harbor they had just arrived at. When their boat had parked itself at one of the piers, Harry was the first to climb out, again offering his hand to help Hermione back onto land.

"'S that everyone?" said Hagrid once they had all disembarked. "C'mon, now, over here. Watch yer step."

With one final headcount, Hagrid raised his lantern over his head and led them all up a dark passageway in the rock.

Harry grinned as Hermione tightened her grip on his hand and proceeded to pull him up the path toward the school. It was all he could do to keep up. The closer they came to end of the tunnel, the faster Hermione went. And it seemed her excitement was catching, too, for he could barely resist the urge to skip along with her, hand in hand with his new best friend.


	2. Getting Sorted

Harry felt a pang of jealousy as Hermione hugged Neville, who had just joined her at the Gryffindor table. He knew they were only friends and he had no right to feel jealous, but knowing what he did about their future it was hard to feel otherwise.

Returning his attention to the Sorting, he watched as Draco Malfoy, the boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's, was declared a Slytherin almost before the Sorting Hat had even touched his slick blond hair. The next girl, Lily Moon, sat on the stool for so long that Harry began to worry that something had gone wrong, but then the hat twitched to life again and announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

They were more than halfway through the alphabet, now, and Harry's nerves were only getting worse. What if he wasn't chosen? Or what if he didn't make Gryffindor with Hermione and Neville?

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry was only vaguely aware of the whispers that broke out all across the Hall when Professor McGonagall called his name. With one last anxious glance at Hermione, he took his seat on the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself … _but only to Miss Granger?_ Now that can't be right, can it?"

Unsure of how to answer a hat, Harry simply shrugged. The whispers, which had quieted after he'd put on the Sorting Hat, started up all over again.

"Don't shrug—you're making a spectacle!" the hat scolded him. "And what _is_ your obsession with Miss Granger, anyway?"

This time, Harry caught himself before he shrugged. He realized the hat must be reading his mind and thought back to his moment of insight on the train.

"Ah—yes, I see now," said the hat. "Some sort of clairvoyance? Prophecy? Have there been any Seers in your family before?"

 _Seer? Is that like a fortune teller?_ Harry asked, remembering an advertisement for a psychic telephone hotline he'd seen when Hagrid took him to London.

"No, of course you wouldn't know," the hat tsked. "Divination is not mere _fortune telling_. It is an ancient magical art encompassing everything from crystal gazing to alectryomancy and even haruspicy, though many consider that a Dark Art, nowadays."

 _Do they teach that here?_

Harry didn't mean to let himself get sidetracked, but he had so many questions right now that it was hard to prioritize.

"Haruspicy? No, I should think not," huffed the hat.

 _What about the rest of it? Crystal gazing and whatever else you said?_

"Hogwarts _does_ offer Divination, but, well …" the hat trailed off, leaving Harry to wonder what was left unsaid. He made a mental note to ask Hermione what _Hogwarts, A History_ had to say about Divination lessons.

 _So, was that some kind of prophecy I had on the train?_

The hat took several seconds to consider the matter. "It was … definitely something," it concluded at last, sounding uncertain of even that much.

Harry started to shake his head in frustration with the hat's unhelpful answer, but quickly stopped when he felt it wobbling precariously on his head. There was another outbreak of whispers amongst the students.

 _But, if it_ was _a prophecy or something,_ he thought as patiently as he could, _does that mean it's really true? I'll marry Hermione?_

"Ah, the age-old question! We write our own futures, and yet …" the hat broke off in a wheezy chuckle. "Listen to us, pondering the vagaries of fate—are you sure you're not a Ravenclaw?" it teased.

 _No—Gryffindor!_ Harry thought with all his might.

"Of course, of course," said the hat, "I could hardly sort you anywhere else. But as for your question—are prophecies guaranteed to come true? I'm afraid that is beyond my knowledge."

Harry's blood ran cold at the thought that his premonition could have been false, that Hermione might never love him.

"Now, I thought you were a Gryffindor," admonished the hat in a stern voice. "Brave at heart? Full of daring? Nerve? Chivalry? That is what you want isn't it?"

 _Yes, but—_

"No buts!" the hat cut him off. "Whatever happens with your Miss Granger, I will not have you blaming me, so it'll have to be GRYFFINDOR!"

Though he still had many questions for the hat, Harry reluctantly lifted it from his head and stumbled over to the Gryffindor table, where he was greeted with raucous cheers. "We got Potter! We got Potter!" yelled the Weasley twins as they danced in their seats. Their brother Percy actually stood up and tried to shake Harry's hand, introducing himself as the Gryffindor prefect. Harry, however, snubbed them all, making a beeline for Hermione and Neville at the end of the table. When he got there, Hermione immediately pulled him into a hug.

"Well done, Harry!"

"Thanks," he said, trying not to blush as she released him and they took their seats. "Congratulations to you, too."

As the celebration at the Gryffindor table had died down and Professor McGonagall was able to resume the Sorting Ceremony, Hermione leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear.

"Whatever did you and the Sorting Hat talk about for so long?" she asked.

Now Harry did blush, though whether it was from the memory of his chat with the hat or simply the new sensation of Hermione whispering into his ear, he was not sure.

"Oh, um …" he cast around for a safe explanation. "The hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw."

"Really? Me too!" beamed Hermione.

"Of course it did—you're brilliant," Harry said, making Hermione smile even wider as she faced forward to watch the rest of the Sorting.

They were down to two students.

"Weasley, Ron!" called Professor McGonagall.

Ron staggered forward, looking a bit queasy. He wore the hat for only a few seconds before the tear at its brim opened wide and proclaimed, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

An unnatural silence fell over the Gryffindor table, where everyone was stunned that Ron Weasley had not followed his brothers into Gryffindor. Even Professor McGonagall, who had seemed so unflappable thus far, blinked in surprise as the newest Hufflepuff took his place beside fellow first year Ernie Macmillan.

~o~

"Do you think Dumbledore was serious about the third floor?" asked Harry as he, Hermione, and Neville sat down at breakfast the next morning.

"I asked one of the older girls," said Hermione, "and she said that corridor is definitely off-limits."

"Unless we want to 'die a very painful death'?"

Hermione poured herself a glass of orange juice and offered the pitcher to Harry and Neville. "He was probably just trying to scare us," she said. "He seems like a very strange man. I bet it's just closed for renovation or something."

"Could be," said Harry, looking up at the staff table, where the headmaster was stirring spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "He is a bit odd."

"Everyone says that," said Neville through a mouthful of toast.

Harry reached for the fried eggs and sausages, taking two of each, then added some bacon and a muffin to his plate for good measure. Everything looked so delicious that he was tempted to try it all.

He had just taken his first bite of egg when he heard a funny coughing sound directly behind him:

" _Hem, hem_."

He took a second bite, but then it came again, louder this time:

" _Hem, hem_."

Belatedly realizing that someone was trying to get his attention, Harry set his fork down and turned to face them.

It was Percy Weasley.

"Uh, hello?" said Harry, wondering what on earth the prefect could want with him.

"Potter, you have detention tonight with Mr. Filch," snapped Percy.

Harry glanced at Hermione and Neville and saw that they were as bewildered as he was.

"Er, what for?" he asked.

" _What for?_ " Percy stamped his foot. "For your violent assault on my brother Ron yesterday on the train!"

"But I didn't assault anyone!" said Harry.

"That'll be another detention for lying, Potter."

"All I did was tell him off," said Harry, struggling to keep his temper in check. He looked helplessly at his friends, but Hermione was two steps ahead of him. She had already managed to wave down Professor McGonagall, who'd been handing out schedules at the Gryffindor table.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, Percy just gave Harry detention for something he didn't do and when Harry told him he didn't do it, Percy gave him another detention," Hermione informed their Head of House.

"Is that so?" Professor McGonagall's mouth thinned as she looked to Percy for an explanation. "Mr. Weasley, why did you assign Mr. Potter a detention?"

Percy puffed out his chest importantly. "While speaking with my brother Ron this morning, I learned that Potter attacked him on the train yesterday."

" _Attacked?_ " repeated Professor McGonagall, her eyebrow raised. "What do you mean 'attacked'?"

Unable to sit and listen to Percy spout lies about him any longer, Harry jumped in a little more heatedly than he intended. "I didn't attack anyone, Professor! Honestly, I just told him off because he was being a git!"

"I see. And what does Ronald say happened?" Professor McGonagall asked Percy, who looked furious at being contradicted.

"Ron said he accidentally insulted Potter's girlfriend"—Percy nodded disdainfully at Hermione, whose cheeks flushed—"and that Potter went berserk and hexed him or something. He said he was so scared to be in the same dormitory as Potter that that's why he had to go to Hufflepuff instead."

Professor McGonagall cast an appraising eye at Harry, then turned back to Percy.

"And you believe that a first-year student who hasn't attended a single lesson could perpetrate such an attack?"

Shrinking under Professor McGonagall's withering glare, Percy mumbled something unintelligible. The only words Harry was able to make out were "who really knows" and "Boy Who Lived." Whatever else Percy may have said, it clearly didn't impress their Head of House.

"Mr. Potter—" interrupted Professor McGonagall, "your detentions are rescinded. And here are your course schedules," she added, handing identical parchments to each of her new students and listening in amusement as Hermione told the boys how excited she was for Transfiguration ("—and Charms, and Herbology—and I can't wait for Astronomy …"). Her expression hardened, however, as she addressed Percy again. "And Mr. Weasley, if I hear of you abusing your authority like this again, I will be taking that badge to give to your replacement."

Harry waited for Percy and Professor McGonagall to leave before breathing a sigh of relief. He turned to thank Hermione for getting help, but then he saw that her cheeks were glowing pink again and, remembering why, got a bit tongue-tied.

"Erm … Hermione, I—er … that is …"

"So, what did happen between you and Ron?" asked Neville, completely oblivious to his two friends' embarrassment.

Harry busied himself with his schedule, unable to meet anyone's eyes while he answered. "It was like I said, he was being a git, so I told him off. All I did was shout at him a little, but I guess he didn't take it very well."

"I guess it's good you scared him away from Gryffindor, if he was being a git," said Neville.

"Please," scoffed Hermione. "If he was that scared of Harry, then he wasn't going to be a Gryffindor to begin with."

"Maybe not," said Neville. He looked at Harry and Hermione for a moment. "So what did—"

Harry wasn't exactly sure what Neville was going to ask next, but he knew couldn't be anything good. A change of subject was in order.

"I suppose we'd better head to class," he said, ruffling his schedule noisily.

"Huh?" Neville checked his watch and scratched his head. "Isn't it—"

"Oh—it's Charms first!" said Hermione, clasping her hands in excitement. She quickly grabbed her things. "Come on, then!" she added, dragging the two boys off to their first class.

~o~

By the end of the day, Neville wasn't the only one with some awkward questions for Harry. Ron and Percy's exaggerated tale of the incident on the train had spread like wildfire and before long the whole school was trading rumors about Harry's spirited defense of Hermione. Some of the more skittish Hufflepuffs were actually scared of him. Others, like the Weasley twins, teased him at every opportunity. The Slytherins, of course, were quite rude about it all—though most of them were careful to wait until Professor Snape was nearby, just in case Ron and Percy's story was true. The worst of it, however, was not the twins' teasing (which they assured Harry was all in good fun) or the Slytherins' taunts (which he could tune out). No, the worst by far was the interrogation Harry endured from Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown about his relationship with Hermione. By the time the two giggling Gryffindors were through with him, he only wished they were as timid as the Hufflepuffs.

"They're not _that_ bad, Harry," Hermione told him at lunch the next day. "And they're gone, so you can quit hiding."

Harry, who had dropped his fork when the two girls walked past, popped his head above the table to see for himself. The coast was clear.

"Hey, I'm the one who has to share a room with them," Hermione pointed out. "You should have heard them last night."

Harry almost dropped his fork again at that. It hadn't occurred to him what those girls might say to Hermione. So far, the lion's share of the whispers and stares had been directed at him and he was horrified to think that might change.

"Was it awful?"

He knew what those girls were capable of.

"Not really," said Hermione. "They get a little carried away, that's all."

 _A little?_ thought Harry incredulously.

"Now hurry up," said Hermione. "We don't want to be late for History."

From that day forward, Harry was very careful to keep his distance from the girls so they couldn't get "carried away" again. It wasn't easy when they were in all the same classes and lived in the same tower, but as the week wore on, he found there were a few places Parvati and Lavender couldn't or wouldn't go, like the library and the boys' dormitories.

Hiding wasn't all bad—Harry did enjoy the time he spent in the library with Hermione—but by Friday, being constantly on guard had taken its toll on him. What he needed was to get out of the rumor-filled castle for the afternoon. He needed to go someplace he could relax and unwind. Luckily, Hagrid's invitation to tea had come in the post that very morning and it seemed like just the ticket.

Or at least it did until Harry knocked on Hagrid's door.

"Harry!" his giant friend boomed, flinging the door wide open. "Come on in! An' yeh've brought yer girlfriend, too!" Hagrid shouted as an enormous boarhound knocked Harry to the ground. "Whoa! Back, Fang— _back!_ "

Neville burst out laughing as Hermione helped Harry to his feet.

"Now, I recognize that face," said Hagrid, noticing Neville for the first time. "Longbottom, right?" Hagrid grinned cheerfully and clapped Neville on the back, inadvertently sending the clumsy boy to the ground. "Oops, sorry 'bout that," he muttered, lifting Neville off the floor. "But like I was sayin', I knew yer folks. Great people."

Seeing how tight the smile on Neville face became when Hagrid mentioned his parents, Harry moved in to introduce Hermione.

"Hagrid, this is Hermione Granger," he said, pulling Hermione over to shake Hagrid's hand.

"Pleased ta meet, ya'," replied Hagrid, bowing his huge head to the little girl. "Now, sit yerselves down and I'll make us some tea." He waved his hand at a table in the center of the one-room cabin.

A minute later, Hagrid had poured them each a cup of tea and set out a plate of homemade rock cakes, which they pretended to enjoy while telling Hagrid all about their first week at Hogwarts.

"An' what's this I hear about yeh gettin' into fights?" Hagrid asked after Harry had told him how Professor Flitwick fainted in their first Charms lesson.

"Harry didn't fight anyone!" exclaimed Hermione, plunking her rock cake down on the table.

Hagrid leaned back in his seat, his eyes twinkling back and forth between Harry and Hermione.

"It's just something Ron Weasley made up," said Harry. "I never hexed him, or anyone else for that matter."

"I know, Professor McGonagall told me," Hagrid chortled. "Besides, I reckon yeh haven't got time to go pickin' fights, what with all the hours yeh spend in the library with Hermione, here."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Hagrid knew far too much about the rumors at the school. It was true that he had taken to spending a great deal of time with Hermione in the library, but how did Hagrid, who looked like he'd never set foot in a library, know that?

Hermione frowned. "Did Professor McGonagall tell you that?"

"She mighta mentioned it," Hagrid said as he dipped a hunk of rock cake in his gigantic mug of tea.

"Great, even our teachers are gossiping about me," groaned Harry.

"We weren't gossipin'! I jus' asked her how yeh were settlin' in, that's all. Besides, I think it's good yer workin' hard," said Hagrid earnestly.

"I do too!" Hermione put in.

His face burning, Harry only smiled and let his mind wander as the conversation turned to their first Potions lesson. He would gladly double his time in the library if it would impress Hermione. Besides, the extra work was already paying dividends in their lessons. It was Hermione's insistence that they reread the first three chapters of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ before class that had saved Harry from even worse embarrassment when Snape had grilled him.

While Hermione started an argument with Hagrid over Snape's professionalism, Harry noticed a piece of paper sticking out from under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_ : GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST. He noticed absently that the break-in happened on his birthday. But, with a mental shrug at the coincidence, he simply poked the paper back under the tea cozy. After all, he had more important things to think about than failed robberies … like the way Hermione's eyes lit up in triumph when Hagrid finally conceded she had a point.

~o~

Hermione had learned a lot in her first week at Hogwarts. Well, not so much magic, really. Unfortunately, they were still in the matches-to-needles stage of their magical education and seemed destined to remain there if some of her classmates didn't take their studies more seriously. She was learning other things, though. Her way around the castle, for one—a task made ten times more difficult than it ought to be by the castle's tendency to rearrange itself every time you've learned where all the staircases lead. She had also learned, to her surprise, that Slytherins were every bit as nasty as people said they were. And it wasn't just the bullies like Malfoy and Parkinson—their Head of House went out of his way to torment Harry and Neville, too.

But despite the Slytherin bullies and the slow pace of their lessons, Hermione _loved_ Hogwarts. Her life had turned upside-down ever since Professor McGonagall had introduced her to the magical world and now she was living in her own fairy tale, high in the tower of a magical castle, where centaurs, fairies, and unicorns roamed the grounds!

Every day she encountered some new magical wonder. Why, the library alone was worth a letter home! It surely held treasures greater than any beneath Gringotts—countless books, hand-written codices, and ancient scrolls which predated Hogwarts itself. Walking between the library's tall shelves, she could well imagine that she was a scholar in the Library of Alexandria, or a researcher sifting through stacks of medieval manuscripts in the British Museum. She was perhaps tracing her finger over the very books studied by Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, or even Merlin himself.

That was a heady thought.

But truly, the most wonderful thing about Hogwarts was not the books or the castle or even the magic, but the fact that here— _finally_ —she had friends!

Harry was her best friend, of course. The boy was nothing like she had expected. In fact, he was modest and kind and even liked to study with her in the library. She couldn't understand why, but the boy who everyone wanted to befriend had picked _her_ as his best friend!

And he was a good friend, too. He never laughed at her or made fun of her for reading too much or teased her about her teeth or hair. Instead, he actually defended her from the bullies. It had only been a week, but already word had spread among the students that anyone messing with Hermione Granger would have to deal with the Boy Who Lived. She had never had _anyone_ stand up for her like that, but found she rather liked it. After all, if a boy who was smart and kind and brave wanted to be her real-life knight in shining armor, then who was she to complain? Especially if he had the most gorgeous green eyes she had ever seen.


	3. Forgotten Foreknowledge

Now that he had settled in at Hogwarts, Harry decided it was time to start researching Divination. If the Sorting Hat was right, that subject was the key to understanding his strange experience on the train.

Finding the library's Divination section had been easy enough. He was a bit disappointed, however, by its size: only twelve books. It was such a paltry selection that he'd asked Madam Pince if there was another Divination section hidden away somewhere in the vast Hogwarts library.

"I should think not!" she'd said in a tone that suggested he was lucky there were any Divination books on her shelves. "What are you looking for, anyway?"

But Harry didn't tell her. Even though he knew Madam Pince would be able to help him (if she was willing), he didn't want to tell anyone about his premonition.

Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to keep his research secret from a certain bushy-haired bookworm. No more than five minutes after he had chosen a book and an out-of-the-way table at the back of the library, Hermione found him.

"What are you studying, Harry?" she asked from over his shoulder.

Harry quickly snapped the book shut and tried to look innocent, but naturally it had the opposite effect. He shifted in his seat.

"Nothing, just doing some reading."

Hermione looked again at the thin volume that he had been reading so intently. She raised an eyebrow. "Divination?"

Knowing he was beaten, Harry answered by simply handing her the book, which was called _Seeing is Believing: A Sceptics Guide to the Gift_.

Hermione took the seat next to Harry as she read the book's dust jacket. "Well, I can see why you tried to hide it, Harry, but there's really nothing to be ashamed of—it's perfectly natural to be curious," she said, handing the book back to him. "What have you learned?"

"Not much," he admitted. "It's mostly about how rare Seers are and how hard it is to tell if a prophecy is real."

Hermione tutted. "Professor McGonagall told me that Divination is a lot of guesswork. It sounds no different than Muggle fortune telling."

"I dunno, the Sorting Hat seems to think there's something to it," said Harry without thinking.

"The Sorting Hat?" Hermione blinked in astonishment. "Why were you talking to the Sorting Hat about Divination?"

"Er—it's a long story—never mind—the point is," he rushed on, "I wanted to ask you if you know anything about the Divination classes at Hogwarts."

Hermione gave him a piercing look before she answered, making it quite clear that she knew what he was doing and would be asking about that "long story" later.

"Only that it's an elective we can take in our third year," she said. "And from what I've heard, most people consider it a soft option."

"A soft option?" repeated Harry. That must have been what the hat had been hinting at.

"Yes, and one of the third years, Angelina, said it's a complete joke."

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently the teacher is a tad … eccentric."

Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair. That could also be what the Sorting Hat had been alluding to.

"Well, that's understandable," he said, his hair sticking every which way. "I'd imagine it must be hard to act normal when you always know what's going to happen."

"I suppose that could be it," said Hermione, though she sounded doubtful. "Sort of like Cassandra."

"Cassandra?" said Harry blankly.

"From the Greek myths."

"Oh, right …" He'd have to take her word for it. Now he needed to end this conversation before his true interest in Divination (or his ignorance of the classics) was revealed. "Well, it's getting late," he said, rising from his seat. "Madam Pince will be tossing us out if we don't get going."

Hermione grumbled, as she always did when it was time to leave the library, but stood and heaved her bag over her shoulder. Taking full advantage of the distraction, Harry quickly changed the subject to Charms. He knew he would have to tell her his long story eventually, but he was more than happy to delay that day as long as possible.

~o~

On the morning of their first flying lesson, Neville received a special package from his grandmother. Harry was only half listening, however, as his forgetful friend explained that the little glass ball was a Remembrall. The other half of his attention was focused across the Great Hall, where Draco Malfoy was sitting. The Slytherin was watching the Gryffindor table with a very evil gleam in his eye.

"—and if it turns red—oh … you've forgotten something …"

Hermione looked at the Remembrall, which was now glowing scarlet in Neville's hand.

"How do you figure out what you've forgotten?"

"That's the hard part," groaned Neville as he began counting off on his fingers all the things he _could_ remember.

Harry shared an amused look with Hermione. Neville was the nicest boy you could ever meet, but his memory was absolutely abysmal. Hermione had tried to help him keep track of everything in a homework planner, but Neville lost the planner nearly as often as he lost Trevor.

Harry kept a close eye on Malfoy as the bully sauntered past the Gryffindor table with his two cronies in tow. Each of the boys aimed a menacing sneer at the Gryffindor first years, causing Neville, who was already apprehensive about their flying lesson, to gulp and drop his Remembrall.

"Don't worry about them," said Hermione as she retrieved the glass ball from under the table. "They won't dare cause trouble with Madam Hooch there."

"Yeah," said Neville, some of the tension leaving his face, "you're probably right."

"She usually is," said Harry.

A few hours later, however, as Harry watched Madam Hooch escort Neville to the hospital wing, Hermione's words were anything but reassuring.

"I knew the Squib couldn't fly a broom!" said Malfoy.

There was a ripple of laughter among the Slytherins, but no one seemed too keen to join in mocking one of Harry's friends.

"Look!" said Malfoy, picking something out of the grass where Neville had crashed. "It's Longbottom's stupid marble." He held the Remembrall high to show all the Slytherins.

Harry stepped forward. "Hand it over, Malfoy."

"I don't think so, Potter," sneered Malfoy. He mounted his broom. "If you want the stupid thing back"—he took off into the air—"then you'll have to come and get it!"

Harry watched Malfoy soar up into the sky, looping around the highest branches of a nearby oak tree. His heart was pounding and he wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't stupid—he knew Malfoy was baiting him, but he couldn't just stand there, could he?

" _Harry_ —" Hermione grabbed his arm. "You can't chase him—you'll only get in trouble!"

Harry knew that too. It was the part of his brain that was always trying to please Hermione that had kept him on the ground this long.

"But what about Neville's Remembrall?" he said.

Parvati piped up before Hermione could answer. "Harry, it's a Remembrall—you can buy them for a few Sickles at Dervish and Banges."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Really?"

Parvati and several others who had grown up in the magical world nodded.

"Oh, I guess it's not worth getting in trouble over, then," said Harry, squinting up at Malfoy, who was still waiting for him. Just when he was thinking Malfoy would soon get bored and come back down, a shout echoed across the grounds.

"DRACO MALFOY!"

Professor McGonagall was running down the slope toward them. None of the first years had ever seen her so furious.

"Get down here this instant!" she screamed.

Malfoy didn't dare disobey. He flew straight down and landed clumsily beside her, his eyes wide with terror. Before he'd even dismounted his broom, Professor McGonagall latched onto his arm and began dragging him back up to the castle, yelling at him all the way.

"I have _never_ seen such, such—how _dare_ you—we are going straight to the headmaster—"

When the door to the castle slammed shut behind them, the rest of the class stood in shocked silence. Some of the Slytherins looked rather shaken at what had happened to their leader.

"That was bloody brilliant!" said Seamus Finnigan.

The other Gryffindors burst into laughter.

"Oh Harry, look!" cried Hermione, pointing at the spot where Malfoy had landed.

There, nearly hidden in the tall grass, sat Neville's Remembrall. Harry ran over and picked it up, only for the glass ball to turn bright red the moment he held it in his hand.

~o~

Harry was still trying to figure out what he had forgotten when they met Neville at dinner that evening.

"Maybe it's a homework assignment," Neville suggested after Harry had explained his dilemma. "That's usually what I forget."

"No, I double-checked that with Hermione," said Harry.

"Oh." Neville thought for a moment. "It's probably nothing important, then."

"That's what I said!" said Hermione.

"I think it _is_ something important, though. I wish I could remember …"

But no matter how hard Harry tried, he simply couldn't remember what it was he had forgotten. In the common room that night, he became so desperate to find out what it was that he asked Neville if he could borrow the Remembrall again. Then, while Hermione and Neville spent the next several hours playing Gobstones, he sat with the little red ball held firmly in his hand, thinking random thoughts and hoping that one of them, through sheer luck, would change the color of the Remembrall.

"Harry, why don't you take a break?" Hermione asked, looking up from their game. "Maybe you'll remember in the morning. Sometimes when I have a problem I can't solve, I go to bed and the next morning I wake up with the solution."

Neville looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Is that magic?"

"No, it's just that your unconscious mind can see things your conscious mind can't."

Harry still wasn't convinced. Hermione's brain might solve all her problems in her sleep, but he was pretty sure his didn't work that way.

"And sometimes, all you need is rest and a fresh start," said Hermione.

"Alright," said Harry, "I'll give it a try. It's not like I'm making any progress here, anyway." He tossed the red Remembrall back to Neville, who pocketed it. "Thanks, Nev."

"Anytime, Harry."

Harry bid Neville and Hermione good night and trudged up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. As he changed out of his robes and got ready for bed, his sleepy mind was still hard at work, trying to think of anything he might have forgotten. He climbed into his four-poster bed, drew the curtains shut, and pulled the warm covers up to his chin. Then, when he had closed his eyes and all but given up, some small switch in the back of his brain suddenly clicked into place, making him jump right out of bed.

 _Hermione's birthday was in one week and he'd forgotten to get her a present!_

He cursed under his breath and sunk back onto his bed, his mind already furiously at work on his new problem: What's an eleven-year-old boy supposed to get his future wife for her twelfth birthday?

It was only hours later, as he was finally nodding off, that Harry began to wonder how he even knew Hermione's birthday when he was sure she'd never told him.

~o~

The following morning, Harry woke to the small disappointment that his sleeping brain had not solved his problem for him. Not that he'd truly expected it to—his dreams had never been very practical. Still, after Hermione had suggested the possibility, he'd hoped that for once he'd wake with something more useful than the roar of a flying motorcycle ringing in his ears. He snorted into his pillow as he recalled how _that_ dream had almost made Uncle Vernon crash his new car. Maybe such dreams had their uses after all …

Rolling out of bed, Harry decided he'd better tell Neville about Hermione's birthday and now was as good a time as any. He pulled back the curtains on Neville's bed and shook his snoring friend awake.

"'S too early," said Neville.

"Come on, Neville, this is important."

"Wake me after Potions."

Growing impatient, Harry yanked the pillow out from under Neville's head. "Just listen," he said, bopping Neville on the head with it and quickly bringing him up to speed about Hermione's birthday.

"It's a good thing you remembered," said Neville, now fully awake. "I'm hopeless with that stuff."

"Do you know how to order her presents by owl?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, that's easy. I can get us some catalogues."

"Great. We're late for breakfast now, but we'll talk more later, when Hermione's not around."

Harry and Neville didn't have an opportunity to finalize their plans for Hermione's birthday until Sunday evening, when she went to discuss her essay with Professor McGonagall. As soon as she'd left the common room, Harry signaled to Neville that it was time for a birthday present brainstorming session. The two boys set up shop at a table against the back wall, where they had a clear view of the portrait hole in case Hermione returned early. Harry wasn't particularly worried about that, though—Hermione and Professor McGonagall would likely be going over her treatise on turning buttons into bottle caps until curfew.

Harry picked up one of the owl-order catalogues Neville had supplied and began flipping through it. "Do you know what you're going to get her?" he asked.

Neville didn't even have to think about it. "A book," he said firmly.

Harry sighed. He'd thought of that too, but he'd hoped to find something less obvious.

"What book?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Neville, picking up a Flourish and Blotts catalogue. A couple minutes later, after Harry had considered and rejected every item in the Zonko's brochure he was reading, Neville smiled triumphantly. "This one," he said, passing the Flourish and Blotts catalogue across the table. " _The First Founder_. It's a biography of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"She'll love it," said Harry. But now he felt even more pressure to find the perfect gift.

He continued flipping through the various catalogues and fliers, hoping something would catch his eye. Honeydukes would have been perfect, except Hermione didn't have much of a sweet tooth. The Apothecary was no good, unless Hermione wanted fresh dragon liver or a bottle of spider legs for her birthday. Madam Malkin's wasn't an option, either—Harry was clueless about wizards' fashion, let alone witches'. He noticed a selection of enchanted rings and other jewelry on the next leaflet and turned it over with a blush. He wanted to give Hermione something special, but not that special. Maybe in a couple years, when they were older and he had worked up the courage to ask her to be is girlfriend….

In the end, Harry decided on two gifts. First, a book on other magical races and cultures, which he knew Hermione would appreciate after hearing her complain about how _parochial_ their History of Magic textbook seemed. He'd had to consult a dictionary, but he was pretty sure she meant it should have more about the history of goblins and centaurs and foreign cultures. The second gift was the one that would ensure he outclassed Neville: a set of quills and stationery from Scrivenshaft's.

The hard part done with, Harry quickly filled out the order form and set off for the owlery. All he had to worry about now was keeping the presents a secret from Hermione until Thursday.

~o~

On the nineteenth of September, Hermione woke up well before her alarm went off. With a catlike stretch and yawn, she climbed out of bed and ambled over to the window, which held a breathtaking view of the sun rising over the misty grounds. She'd never known Britain could be so beautiful until she'd come to Hogwarts. Whether it was part of the magic of the school or a by-product of its remote location, there was something special about the place.

But as much as she loved being at Hogwarts, today she missed her home. She missed her parents, especially, since it was her first birthday without them. And while she was certain their card would be in the morning post, it just wasn't the same. There would be no birthday hugs, no birthday cake, and no presents to unwrap, since they had already given her a set of hardcovers ( _Jane Eyre_ , _Wuthering Heights_ , and _Agnes Grey_ ) before school started.

Of course, even if her parents couldn't be there, it would be nice to celebrate her birthday with her first real friends. The problem was Hermione hadn't actually told Harry or Neville about her birthday. She'd wanted to tell them, but it had proved to be a surprisingly tricky subject to raise. If she simply said, "It's my birthday next week," would they think she was asking them to get her something? Or would the boys even care? She had no idea what to expect from them.

There was a silver lining, though, as she now knew her next New Year's resolution: to stop overthinking _everything_.

Hermione took a seat at her favorite table in the common room and occupied herself with a deck of Exploding Snap cards. She hadn't expected anyone else to wake up until it was time for breakfast, but it wasn't long before she heard two hushed voices coming down the stairs from the boys' dormitories.

"Shh! I think I hear someone."

A black head of hair poked through the doorway for a fraction of a second, then disappeared again.

"Damn, it's her!" she heard Harry whisper. "Okay—forget the plan, let's just do it."

She heard Neville agree and then both boys shuffled into the common room with huge grins on their faces.

"Happy birthday!" they shouted together.

Hermione felt her mouth fall open, but didn't have the presence of mind to close it.

"Hedwig should be here any moment with your presents," Harry announced cheerfully as he flung a window open. "Ah, here she is."

Hedwig flew right into the common room and landed gracefully on the back of the chair next to Hermione. The snowy owl held out her right leg, which had three small packages tied to it. Hermione removed them with fumbling hands and set the miniature presents on the table in front of her.

"You have to tap them with your wand to unshrink them," said Harry. "Professor Flitwick did the charm for us."

Three taps of her wand later, she was staring at two poorly wrapped books and one mystery present.

"What—how?"

"Go on, open them," Neville urged her. He handed her one of the books. "Here, this one's from me."

She had barely unwrapped it when Harry pushed the other two presents toward her.

"Now mine," he said.

"But how did you—" But she took one look at the boys' eager faces and decided it didn't matter how. She would start her resolution early and just enjoy this moment. "Thank you, Neville. I can't wait to read it." She set _The First Founder_ aside and began unwrapping Harry's book. "Oh, Harry, this looks wonderful!"

"I got you another, just in case."

She slowly unwrapped her mystery present. A stunning cobalt blue quill and a supply of personalized stationery fell into her lap.

"Well, do you like it?"

"I _love_ it," she said, examining the quill. "But you didn't have to get me anything."

"We wanted to," said Harry.

Hermione looked down at her presents and wiped a tear from her eye. "Thank you," she said in a thick voice. For all her homesickness, her loneliness, and her insecurity, her friends had made this one of her best birthdays ever, simply by showing that they cared.

There was still one thing missing, though.

Without warning, she leapt from her seat and pounced on Harry, wrapping him in the biggest of birthday hugs.


	4. Through the Trapdoor

Time passed quickly at Hogwarts. Very quickly, Harry thought as he put _Divination Deconstructed_ back on its shelf. Tomorrow was already Halloween and he still hadn't learned anything useful about prophecies or clairvoyance. And now he wondered if he ever would, since he'd just read the last library book on the subject.

He turned away from the tiny shelf which held the Divination section and slowly made his way to Hermione's table at the front of the library. He would never understand why the Divination section was so pitiful. When he'd first found it, the books weren't even in their proper order—something Madam Pince would never tolerate on any other shelf in her library. And there were only _twelve_ of them. He still couldn't believe that. The Alchemy section was ten times that size, filling an entire bookcase near the Restricted Section—and Hogwarts didn't teach Alchemy!

Harry stopped beside the rope which separated the Restricted Section from the rest of the library. The school kept hundreds of the Darkest and most dangerous spell books on those shelves, yet somehow it couldn't find room for a decent Divination section. Harry felt Madam Pince's beady little eyes on him and started walking again before she accused him of entering the Restricted Section without permission. He'd gotten the feeling the librarian didn't like him ever since he asked her about the Divination books.

No, Harry thought as he sunk into a chair across from Hermione, neither the librarian nor her precious books had been any help to him this past month. And though he was sure the person currently sitting across from him (and working very diligently on her Potions essay) could have helped him a great deal, she was already too curious about his research. If he asked for her help there was no way he'd be able to keep evading her questions.

Harry watched Hermione work for a few minutes in silence. With her sleeves rolled up and a cute little smudge of ink on her nose, she was so absorbed in her assignment that she still hadn't acknowledged his presence, if she was aware of it at all.

But even Hermione couldn't distract him from his problem for long. In fact, thinking about Hermione only brought the problem back to the forefront of his mind. Twice now, he had inexplicably _known_ something about her, about their future. For the sake of their future relationship, he had to find out what was happening. He had to understand how he knew these things.

Hermione muttered a spell to dry the ink on her parchment before finally looking up from her work. "Oh—hello, Harry."

He returned her smile with one of his own and tapped the end of his nose. "Hermione, uh …"

" _Oh!_ " She blushed and dove into her bag, returning a second later with a handkerchief. She dabbed the spot of ink from her nose. "Did I get it?"

"Yeah," said Harry, watching her clean the ink from the handkerchief with her wand. "Are you ready to go? It's time for dinner."

"Yes, as soon as I've cleaned up here," she said, indicating the mess of books and parchment strewn across the table.

As Harry helped her put her things away, his thoughts turned once more to his fruitless research. He'd wanted to do this on his own, to keep his research secret, but the Divination books in the library had turned out to be useless. As much as he'd tried to deny it these past few weeks, the truth was he needed help. He needed a teacher, someone with experience in these matters who could instruct and guide him.

Tomorrow, he resolved. Tomorrow, he would consult the expert.

~o~

Harry hesitated beneath the circular trapdoor which read, "Sibyll Trelawney, Divination teacher"—partly out of apprehension and partly because he had no idea how to open a door in the ceiling. Sir Cadogan, the painted knight who had helped him find the room, hadn't said anything about how to get inside. Then, as if it had sensed his need, the door popped open and a silvery ladder descended before him.

Climbing up the ladder, Harry emerged into a dimly-lit classroom smelling strongly of incense. In place of desks, it was furnished with more than a dozen round tables and faded chintz armchairs. Along the walls, there were shelves of tattered old books, chipped teacups, dusty crystal balls, and knick-knacks and curios of every description. As soon as Harry stepped into the room, the trapdoor snapped shut behind him. He looked around for some sign of Professor Trelawney, but she was nowhere to be found. The only movement was that of the strange, shifting light that filtered through the smoky air.

An ethereal voice called out of the gloom:

"Harry Potter. We meet at last."

Then, as Harry squinted around for the source of the voice, a thin wisp of a woman stepped out of the shadows to his left. She was covered in so many shawls, scarves, bangles, and beads that Harry was impressed she could stand.

"Yes, I've been expecting you," said the woman. Her wide, watery eyes, which must have been magnified tenfold by her large glasses, were fixed directly on Harry's face.

"How—how did you know it was me?"

"My dear," said Professor Trelawney in a most significant tone, "there are _many_ things I See …"

But this time, Harry didn't need clairvoyance to see what was happening. He raised one hand, which, to his surprise, brought a swift halt to the woman's performance.

"You're not really a Seer, are you?" he asked, almost plaintively.

Professor Trelawney sniffed indignantly. "Of course I am. I am descended from Cassandra Trelawney herself. I—"

"No," said Harry. "It's an act, isn't it? You didn't _See_ me coming, you just recognized me by my scar like everyone else."

Professor Trelawney's eyes narrowed until she was glaring at Harry in a most McGonagall-like way.

"What is it that you want, boy? If you've come here to slander me, to repeat lies and accusations—" She clutched impulsively at her scarves, strangling them.

"But it's true!" said Harry, his voice rising now. "You're a fraud, aren't you? A fake?"

While Harry's pronouncements echoed through the empty classroom, Trelawney shot an anxious look at the closed trapdoor, as if she feared someone might be listening on the other side.

" _Will you be quiet!_ " she hissed. Her spooky demeanor had completely evaporated by this point. She swept through the maze of tables and chairs until she stood right in front of him. "What are you doing here, if you think so little of my talents?"

Heaving a deep sigh, Harry plopped down in the nearest chair.

"Well, you're the Divination teacher, so I guess I figured if anyone could help me it would be you."

"Help you?" she said. "You want me to read your future and _this_ is how you ask—by insulting me?"

"I don't want you to read my future, I—" Harry hesitated. He couldn't really share his secret with this charlatan, could he?

"You what?"

But then again, he thought, she might be the perfect person to unburden himself to, since no one would believe her if she did repeat what he said.

"I think I might be some kind of Seer," he said.

Trelawney snorted. "Like I haven't heard that before."

"I'm serious," Harry insisted. "I Saw the future! Twice!" And before he could stop himself, he was telling her the whole story: how he met Hermione on the train, his conversation with the Sorting Hat, how he knew Hermione's birthday, and all the research he did in the library. Trelawney was gaping at him by the end of it.

"This is a joke," she said slowly.

"No—"

"Yes, of course it is. It's a trick. You're trying to make a fool of me. What else could it be?"

"The truth," said Harry through gritted teeth. He couldn't believe Trelawney was accusing _him_ of being a fake Seer.

Trelawney folded her arms. "I wish I could believe that."

"Then maybe you should," said Harry bitterly. He'd had such high hopes for this meeting and it couldn't have gone worse. "Just because you're a fraud doesn't mean everyone is."

Trelawney's cheeks flushed, but as Harry stood to leave, she only stared at him in silence. It was a searching look—not as intimidating as Professor McGonagall's stare, nor as aggressive as Professor Snape's—but there was still something about her great, glittery eyes that gave Harry the creeps.

"You're _really_ not joking?" she said after a moment.

"No, I'm not."

"And you actually want my help?"

Harry shrugged. "I did, but that was when I thought you were a Seer."

Professor Trelawney's nostrils flared reflexively, but she let the slight pass.

"I'm sorry I've wasted your time," said Harry. "I'll just be going now."

Professor Trelawney didn't answer. She seemed to be thinking very hard about something as she watched him walk away. He had almost reached the trapdoor when she called out.

"Wait! I—I may be able to help you."

Harry stopped and turned a skeptical eye on the supposed Seer, but Trelawney seemed unwilling to say more from across the room. With a jangle of bracelets and beads, she scurried closer.

"I may not have the Gift—" she whispered so quietly Harry had to strain to hear her. "But," she continued at her normal volume, "I have devoted my life to studying Divination, and I may be able to help you, yet."

Harry didn't know what to say. How could he trust this woman? What could she teach him?

"I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I honestly believe I can help," she said pleadingly.

"Why do you even want to help me?" asked Harry, trying to make sense of her sudden change in attitude.

Trelawney leaned closer.

"I—I've never met a real Seer," she whispered. "Not even my great-great-grandmother. She died when I was a baby. I just thought, you know, after all these years … it might be nice to see what it's really like …"

Harry couldn't believe he was considering this, but he was. He needed a teacher and she was his only option. Besides, she couldn't be any worse than the library books, could she?

"Okay," he said, smiling for the first time since he'd entered her classroom. "When can we start?"

~o~

Hermione hadn't seen Harry since their afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson and was starting to worry. It wasn't like him to disappear like this—for the past two months, they'd been doing everything together. But now here she was at the Halloween feast, surrounded by happy, laughing students, and without her best friend to share it with.

"Neville, have you seen Harry?" she asked, keeping one eye on the door for him.

Neville paused buttering his potato. "No, not since Defense, I think."

"That's odd," she said. "Where could he be?"

Then it hit her—Halloween was the anniversary of the day Harry lost his parents.

She had already pushed her empty plate away, fully intending to track down her friend wherever he was hiding and do whatever she could to help him, when the boy in question dropped right into the seat she had saved for him.

"Hey, Hermione, Neville, sorry I'm late," he said, helping himself to the roast chicken.

"Oh Harry, I was so worried!"

"Huh?" Harry glanced at Neville for an explanation, but Neville was lost, too. "I didn't think I was that late," said Harry.

Hermione blushed. Of course it made her sound ridiculous when he put it like that.

"But you went off alone and didn't tell us so I thought you must be brooding or—" She stopped at the look of total confusion on Harry's face. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

Before she could explain herself properly, the doors of the Great Hall flew open and Professor Quirrell raced inside. He looked terrified—even more so than usual. Every head in the Hall turned to watch as he approached Professor Dumbledore and collapsed next to the headmaster's plate. The dull thump of his turban-wrapped head hitting the tabletop could be heard throughout the silent Hall.

"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," he gasped.

The room erupted. In an effort to restore order, Professor Dumbledore conjured several deafening firecrackers that had the Weasley twins taking notes. Hermione plugged her ears but it was too late.

"Prefects," Dumbledore bellowed over the ringing in her ears, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

In the ensuing pandemonium, Hermione could hardly hear Percy shouting his orders to the Gryffindors.

"How'd a troll get into the castle?" yelled Neville over the din.

"Good question," said Harry, craning his neck to see over the crowd.

Hermione pushed the boys toward the doors. "Come on you two! We can talk in the common room, where it's safe!" She imagined the great smelly troll bursting into the Hall and barely repressed a shudder. Or maybe she failed to repress it, because Harry reached out and took her hand.

"We'll be fine," he said in an undertone.

"Yes, well—" She pulled him onward, hoping he would interpret her haste as a return to her usual bossy self.

Together, they followed Percy's bright red hair, which was easily visible over the heads of the other students, out into the entrance hall and up the marble staircase. With each step they climbed, Hermione felt her fear receding. Only when they were locked safely in Gryffindor Tower, however, did she fully relax. She released Harry's hand and wiped her own sweaty palm on the front of her robes, praying he hadn't noticed that.

"Hey, look!" Hermione heard someone call over the chattering students. As she looked around for the source of the excitement, the crowd of students in front of them parted to reveal a long buffet table at the center of the common room.

"It looks like we'll have the rest of the feast here," said Percy. He began herding everyone into a line. "Come on, now, single file!"

Once everyone had filled their plates, there was another round of chaos as they all tried to find places to sit. Fortunately, Hermione managed to secure them a little table across the room with just enough room for three plates.

"So," Neville said once they'd taken their seats, "how _did_ a troll get in?"

"I don't know," said Hermione. "It does seem awfully strange, though. Surely a troll can't just wander in?"

Neville's eyes grew wide. "You think someone let it in?"

Hermione scarcely heard him—her mind was already racing. Whoever let the troll in wouldn't have been at the feast. Professor Quirrell was the only one she'd noticed missing besides Harry, but he was the one who found the troll and warned everyone so it couldn't have been him…. She felt like she was missing a piece of the puzzle.

Hermione continued pondering this mystery all through dinner, but to no avail. Without more information, she was stuck. She only hoped the headmaster knew more than she did, as it would be rather difficult to study if trolls kept breaking into the castle.

"You know, Hermione," Harry said over dessert, "you never answered me before."

"Come again?"

"Back in the Great Hall. You were going to tell me why you thought I was off brooding?"

Hermione's face fell. If Harry had forgotten Halloween was the day his parents were murdered, she really, really didn't want to have to tell him. She took a long time to swallow her bite of pie before answering.

"Because—well, today's the anniversary of your parents' deaths," she said softly.

Harry's fork froze midway to his mouth. He blinked and shook his head. "I hadn't thought of that. I didn't even know it happened on Halloween until Hagrid brought me my letter, so I never …" He frowned. "D'you think I should have done something to remember them?"

"If you want to, we could," said Hermione. "I know you remember them every day, though, Harry."

Harry only nodded, playing with the last remains of his pumpkin pie. Hermione had been worrying about him brooding, and now he was. She silently cursed herself for ever having raised the subject. Harry would still be enjoying himself right now if she hadn't opened her big mouth.

She glanced at Neville, but for some reason he seemed as preoccupied as Harry. Too late, she remembered that Neville had lost his parents as well.

"I wish I _could_ remember them," said Harry, breaking the silence at last. "I've never even seen a picture of them."

Hermione reached out instinctively and took Harry's hand in both of hers.

"I think—" Neville stood up abruptly. "I think there's one … let me check," he said as he hurried up the steps to the boys' dormitories. A few seconds later he returned with a small leather-bound photo album in his hands. He flipped through the pages, searching until—"Found it!" He pushed the book across the table to Harry.

Hermione moved her chair closer so she could look over Harry's shoulder. It was a photograph from a wedding—Neville's parents' wedding, judging by the bride's familiar round face. And there, congratulating the happy couple, were the Potters. Lily and James looked so young that Hermione wondered if they could still be students. They certainly weren't married yet. James was captured in the middle of telling a joke, while the Longbottoms laughed and Lily looked rather exasperated with her boyfriend.

" _Mum_ ," breathed Harry.

Hermione wanted so badly to hug her friend, but was afraid she'd spoil this moment for him. His eyes were filled with awe, never blinking as the moving photograph kept replaying the same scene over and over again—his dad's joke, the Longbottoms' laughter, his mum rolling her eyes.

"Our parents were friends?" he asked after a while.

"I think it was more our grandparents," said Neville. "I know Gran was good friends with your grandmother, so our dads knew each other growing up."

Harry nodded, his eyes still glued to the photograph.

"It's a lovely picture, Neville," said Hermione. "You look a lot like you're mum."

"I know, I get that a lot."

"Me too, Nev," said Harry. "Only I look like my dad, with my mum's eyes."

Hermione looked at the photo again. "Well it's true," she said.

Harry nudged her. "So who do you look like? Your mum?"

"Most people say I take after my dad's side of the family, actually. I do have my mum's hair, though." She twisted a stray curl around her finger and grimaced. But then her face brightened as she continued, "Oh, I can't wait for you to meet them, Harry!"

"Huh?" Harry tore himself away from the photo album to look at her.

"My parents," Hermione explained, her cheeks turning pink. "I—well, I was planning on inviting you for Christmas, since I knew you wouldn't be going home for the holidays."

Harry's eyes lit up. "That'd be brilliant!" he exclaimed. "If your parents are okay with it, I mean."

"I haven't asked them yet," she said, her heart soaring at Harry's enthusiasm for her idea, "but I'm sure they'll say yes. I've never had a friend over before."

Smiling broadly, Harry turned back to the photo of his parents. "Neville, do you know if there's any way to copy this photo?" he said.

"I think so," said Neville. "I can ask my gran. We might have more with your dad at home, too."

"Thanks, Nev. That'd be amazing, if you do."

Harry spent the rest of the evening watching the photo of his parents, drinking in every detail. Hermione could see the longing in his eyes as he looked at their joyful faces, and his reluctance when it came time to return the album to Neville, who was headed to bed.

"If you ever want to borrow it, just let me know," said Neville.

"Thanks, Nev."

"Good night, Neville," said Hermione.

After Neville had gone, Hermione and Harry moved from their table to a sofa by the fireplace.

"That was nice of Neville," said Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Neville's a good friend."

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly. Neville had saved her tonight. After she'd made the mistake of bringing up Harry's parents, the whole night could have been ruined and Harry would have been miserable.

"Do you really think your parents will let me come for Christmas?" he asked.

"Yes, and if they don't"—Hermione raised her chin defiantly—"then I'll stay here with you."

"Hermione, you don't have to—"

"You're _not_ going to be alone on Christmas, Harry!" she said. "One way or another, I'm going to make sure you have a great holiday."

"But I don't want you to miss Christmas with your family, either."

"Don't worry," she said. "My parents will say yes and we'll have a wonderful time at my house, I promise."

Harry seemed to accept that for the moment. He gave up arguing, at least.

"Tell me about your house," he said, settling back into his cushions. "Where do you live?"

"Well, we live in Crawley …" Hermione began, making herself comfortable beside him.

By the time she had finished telling Harry all about her home and her parents and what they would do over Christmas break, it was past midnight. Glancing around the darkened common room, she realized there was no one left but Harry and herself.

"Harry, I think we should go to bed," she whispered.

But he didn't answer.

She looked and saw that his eyes were closed. He must have fallen asleep listening to her. She closed her own eyes for a moment, feeling almost too tired to climb the stairs to her bed. It was very cozy there on the sofa, listening to the gentle crackling of the fire and the peaceful sound of Harry's breathing and the few faint murmurings he made in his sleep. Most of what he said was too quiet to make out, but here and there she caught a word or phrase that made her wonder what on earth he could be dreaming about.

Then, as she felt herself slowly falling asleep, she heard something that made her heart skip a beat. She sat up straight and listened, hoping to hear more … _and there it was again_ —

"Hermione … love," mumbled Harry.

And she, feeling bold, answered, "Yes, love?"

But Harry only breathed a contented sigh and snuggled down into his cushions.

Hermione waited a few more minutes before she finally went to bed, but Harry never said another word. And the next morning when she awoke, she could no longer say if she hadn't dreamed the whole thing.


	5. Lesson One

Harry, Hermione, and Neville arrived at breakfast early on Friday morning, hoping to hear what had happened to the troll the night before. Instead, the Great Hall was buzzing with talk of what had almost happened to two first-year Hufflepuffs.

"It was Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones," Lavender Brown informed them.

"Hannah wasn't at the feast last night because that Ron Weasley"—Parvati pointed to the end of the Hufflepuff table where Ron sat all by himself—"was making fun of her."

"And then Susan left the feast to go find her," said Lavender. "Apparently Hannah was in the bathroom, crying all afternoon—" Lavender paused to shoot a dirty look at Ron, who was stabbing sullenly at the sausage on his plate, "so neither of them knew about the troll!"

Hermione gasped. "They're okay, aren't they?" She began scanning the Hufflepuff table for any sign of Hannah or Susan.

"Don't worry, they're fine," said Lavender. "The prefects—or one of them, anyway—saw that they were missing right away. She told Professor Sprout and Professor Sprout managed to get to them before the troll did."

"It was close, though!" said Parvati. "Padma said she heard from Sally-Anne that the troll was in the same corridor as them. She said Susan said they could smell it, but they didn't know what it was!"

"Ugh." Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Can you imagine?"

"I bet Susan's aunt won't be happy when she hears that," said Neville as he loaded his plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns.

"Her aunt?"

Neville took a moment to respond as he was busy making room on his plate for baked beans. "Madam Bones," he said. "She's the Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I heard Professor Sprout already told Madam Bones and she came to the school last night to personally investigate," said Lavender.

"What'd she find out?" asked Harry. "And what happened to the troll?"

"After Professor Sprout rescued Hannah and Susan, the other Professors took care of the troll. Someone said they saw Professor Snape limping this morning, so he must have gotten hurt in the fight."

Harry glanced up at the staff table and saw Snape hadn't come to breakfast.

"I guess we'll have to wait till Potions to see," said Neville.

Harry groaned. If Snape was in pain, he was bound to take it out on them. He wondered what it would take to convince Hermione to skive off. Probably another troll, he decided.

"And have they figured out how the troll got in?" Hermione asked Lavender and Parvati.

The two girls shared a disappointed look.

"We haven't heard anything about that."

The rest of the day, there was only one topic of conversation at Hogwarts: the troll. Although Harry heard no official word on how it had gotten inside the castle, it seemed everyone had a theory. Some were convinced that Peeves the Poltergeist had let it in as a Halloween prank. Others, including many of the Gryffindors, maintained that a Slytherin must have let it in, since it came through their dungeons. Fred and George Weasley each received detention from Professor McGonagall for spreading the story that Snape had let the troll in himself so he could play the hero. As the day went on and the speculation became wilder and wilder, Harry quit listening to it altogether. Between Hermione and his classes (where he was struggling to keep pace with her), he had enough on his mind without adding trolls to the mix.

"What's the point, anyway?" he asked that evening as Hermione helped Neville with the Levitation Charm. "It's not like anyone knows what happened."

With a swish and a flick of her wand, Hermione levitated a feather over their heads. "And no one will until Madam Bones and the teachers finish their investigation," she said. "I doubt the rumors will stop before then."

"I don't know about that," said Neville, looking enviously at the floating feather. "Doesn't Quidditch start next week?"

"Yeah, Gryffindor versus Slytherin," said Harry. "What's that got to do with it?"

"Hogwarts has always been obsessed with Quidditch," said Hermione as she allowed her feather to fall back to the table.

"And Gryffindor versus Slytherin is the biggest rivalry," said Neville, flicking his wand at the feather. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

The feather sped sideways off the tabletop and onto the floor.

"You didn't swish," said Hermione. "Watch— _Wingardium Leviosa_." The feather rose from the floor and hovered beside them. She turned to Harry. "Neville might be right. If anything can make people forget about the troll, it's that silly broom sport."

And when Monday came without any more news of the break-in, that's exactly what happened: the same students who had traded troll tales the last three days now spoke of nothing but Saturday's match. With each day, the excitement in the castle grew and relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin worsened. By Friday, altercations between the two Houses had become common, with one brawl landing a dozen fourth and fifth years in the hospital wing.

Curious as he was to see what all the fuss was about, Harry had another, secret reason to be excited about Saturday: it was also the day of his first Divination lesson. And it was a good thing he had something else to look forward to, because the match was a major disappointment. It turned out that Hermione was quite right—Quidditch _was_ silly. The entire match lasted forty minutes. In that time, Gryffindor shot twenty penalties, lost two players to injury, and then lost the match when the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch while everyone was watching the Quaffle.

Afterwards, Harry, Hermione, and Neville went to Hagrid's for tea, which they all found far more satisfying.

"Now, I'll admit that wasn' a good match," Hagrid was telling them as he set out a plate of rock cakes. "I'm jus' sayin' yeh shouldn' judge the whole sport on what yeh saw today." He took a great swig of tea from his gallon-sized mug. "Now if yeh saw a good match, that'd be another story."

Hermione gave Hagrid a pitying look, but knew better than to argue.

"Take Harry's dad fer example," said Hagrid with a nod to Harry. "Now, if yeh saw _him_ play, yeh'd know what good Quidditch was."

Harry's ears perked up. "My dad played Quidditch?"

"An' he was ruddy brilliant!" said Hagrid. "One of the best Chasers Gryffindor ever had. 'Spect yeh'd be a good player yerself, Harry, if yeh had a mind to try out fer the team next year."

Harry shrugged doubtfully. No matter what Hagrid said, he had no intention of trying out for the team after witnessing that dreadful match. He was, however, very eager to hear about his dad's Quidditch career, and it didn't take much prodding for Hagrid to regale them with tales of James Potter's prowess on a broom.

Hours later, when Hagrid had given them an excruciatingly detailed account of the 1976 Gryffindor Quidditch team's perfect season and they were all pretending to eat their third rock cake, Hermione, who had been quiet for some time, cleared her throat.

"Hagrid, what ever happened with the investigation into the troll?" she asked.

"An' what makes yeh think I'd know anythin' about that?"

Harry, too, looked suspiciously at Hermione. On their previous visits, they had learned that Hagrid had a tendency to spill secrets, so Hermione was obviously mining him for information—but what did she expect to get out of him?

"Well, I was just curious and Professor Dumbledore hasn't told us _anything_ ," she said. Harry smirked into his tea, realizing that this was more about Hermione's need to know everything—even the things she wasn't supposed to—than anything else. "But, I thought you must know," she continued in a sweet voice. "Is the investigation still ongoing?"

"I don't know nothin' about it," said Hagrid gruffly.

Hermione pouted, but Hagrid would say no more—a sure sign that he really did know nothing.

"Maybe they'll discover the Weasley twins were right," said Neville.

"Very funny," said Hermione, "except Snape—I mean Professor Snape—was at the feast so he couldn't have done it. You just don't want to give him credit for fighting the troll."

"Guilty," said Neville with a wide grin.

"Fightin' the troll? What're yeh talkin' about?" said Hagrid.

Hermione frowned at him. "Didn't Professor Snape fight the troll? Everyone saw him limping the next day, so we thought he must have been injured …"

"Nah, _I_ took care of the troll," said Hagrid. "I jus' used a steak ter lead it back outside. No one fought it." He chuckled and added, "It was Fluffy that got Snape's leg."

There was a moment of silence before Hagrid winced as it dawned on him what he'd just said.

"Forget I said that! Don' ask," he cut off Hermione. "Jus' forget it. It's none of yer business an' I'd be in trouble if anyone knew I told yeh."

"But, Hagrid—"

"No," he said flatly. "It's nothin' to do with yeh, so don' ask."

"But—"

"Hermione, maybe Hagrid's right," said Neville. "We should just forget about it."

Hagrid nodded vigorously and let out an enormous sigh of relief when Hermione grudgingly agreed. She did not forget the matter entirely, though. When they said goodbye to Hagrid a short time later, Harry could tell that she was still dying to question him further. And Hagrid must have seen the danger, too, because he practically shoved them out the door before Hermione could raise the subject again.

Their walk back to the castle was unusually quiet after that. Hermione and Neville were both rather preoccupied—Hermione with Hagrid's latest indiscretion and Neville with his rumbling stomach. Harry, on the other hand, had something else on his mind: his first Divination lesson was in one hour.

~o~

Albus Dumbledore nodded distractedly to whatever Professor McGonagall was telling him.

"Of course, Minerva," he said.

His eyes, however, never left the first-year boy sitting with his friends at the other end of the Great Hall.

Harry Potter was a most perplexing child.

When the Sorting Hat had pronounced the boy a Gryffindor, Dumbledore had known that all was going according to plan. And indeed, Harry was very much a Gryffindor—brave, noble, uncompromising. But there was also something so unaccountably _Ravenclaw_ about the boy.

He was a model student. His teachers reported that he was not only intelligent, but inquisitive too— _nosy_ , Severus called him. Dumbledore glanced at the surly Potions master and saw that his eyes were also fixed on the young Potter, though they held none of the headmaster's good humor.

A pointed cough called Severus back to his own meal.

But, Dumbledore reflected as he watched Harry dig into his pudding, it was not even the boy's innate curiosity that left him mystified. No, it was the fact that that curiosity had not driven Harry and his friends to investigate any of the strange goings-on at the school. The _You-Know-What_ in vault seven hundred and thirteen should have captured the boy's attention. After that, the warning about the forbidden corridor should have had him running to the third floor to inspect the locked door for himself. And when the troll had gotten in last week, Dumbledore had been _sure_ that Harry and his friends would take advantage of the distraction to go on a little adventure. It was what James would have done, at any rate.

But it seemed Harry was a stickler for the rules—more so than any hero should be….

Luckily, Dumbledore still had one or two cards up his sleeves to draw the boy out of his shell and into the thick of things. He had planned to wait until Christmas, but given the way things were going, perhaps it was time to reconsider. Another clue might be just the thing to pique Harry's curiosity.

Pushing his own untouched custard tart aside, Dumbledore rose from the table and, after bidding Minerva and Severus good evening, retreated to his office. There was little time, and much to prepare.

~o~

When Harry followed Hermione and Neville out of the Great Hall after dinner, he still had no idea how he was going to slip away for his Divination lesson.

He didn't want to lie to his friends, but he couldn't very well say, "Hey, I'm off for special tutoring with Professor Trelawney," could he? He considered telling a half-truth, but any mention of tutoring or extra lessons would have Hermione jumping to accompany him and then he'd never get away….

Harry was so absorbed in his scheming that he almost walked right into the Fat Lady's portrait as it swung open to admit them to the Gryffindor common room. And when Hermione informed the boys that she was feeling a bit tired and was heading upstairs for a short nap, his only response was a distracted grunt. If he didn't come up with something soon, he'd be late for his lesson. He sat down on the nearest sofa to think, barely listening as Neville announced that he was going to the library to catch up on some homework.

Two minutes after Neville had left, Harry suddenly smacked himself in the forehead and sprinted to the portrait hole. He ran all the way to the North Tower and was panting as he climbed up to the Divination classroom. This time, Professor Trelawney was there to greet him at the top of the ladder.

"Welcome, Harry Potter," she said in her mistiest voice.

Harry froze as all of his misgivings about Trelawney came roaring back. He'd only agreed to these lessons because he'd assumed she would drop the fake Seer act.

Then the trapdoor clicked shut and her manner changed instantly.

"Sorry about that," she said. "Have to keep up appearances, you know. One can never be too careful around here. But, now that we have some privacy—" she clapped her hands together, "let's get started."

Professor Trelawney led him to a round table at the front of the room. She indicated a chintz armchair for Harry to sit in and he was surprised when she took the opposite chair and offered him a cup of tea. It seemed their lessons would be somewhat informal.

"Let's begin by going over your first premonition, shall we?" said Professor Trelawney.

"You think that's really what it was?" said Harry. Even after talking to the Sorting Hat and reading all those books, part of him still refused to believe he could be a Seer.

"Oh, undoubtedly," she said, her eyes gleaming. "The way you described it—the sudden _knowing_ —" She smiled ruefully. "I couldn't believe it at first. It was so perfect, I thought you must have made it up."

"But it seemed so, I don't know … like it came out of nowhere." He gestured to the shelves of Divination paraphernalia around them. "If I'm a Seer shouldn't I have to use a crystal ball or tea leaves or something?"

"What you experienced was essentially accidental magic," said Trelawney. "Just as a child's magic is prone to uncontrolled outbursts, your untrained Inner Eye will sometimes show you things you weren't even looking for."

Harry knit his brow in confusion. "Shouldn't I have Seen things when I was younger, then? I did other magic."

"Not necessarily," she said. "Accidental magic is often triggered by strong emotion and your Gift would only manifest when it has reason to. So far, everything you've Seen has been about your friend Hermione—she is your Object. I would say that meeting her is what caused your Inner Eye to open, so to speak."

Stopping to sip her tea, Trelawney waved her wand to summon a tin of biscuits from a shelf behind the teacher's desk. When they had each taken a ginger snap, she continued.

"Now that your Eye is open, your task—and mine—is to train it so you have some degree of control over when and how you See. The various methods of Divination, such as palmistry and crystal gazing, are different ways of _focusing_ your Eye, similar to how a wand is used to focus your magic. Some methods will work better for you than others and some won't work at all, so we'll have to experiment to find your favorite."

Harry helped himself to another biscuit, feeling much better about his decision to take lessons from Trelawney. It sounded like she knew her stuff. He'd already learned more in the first few minutes of this lesson than he had from all the Divination books in the library.

"Are you familiar with any methods of Divination?" said Trelawney.

"Not really," he said. "The books I read didn't go into very much detail. They never explained how to actually do any of them."

"Oh?" Trelawney straightened her oversized glasses. "What books did you read?"

"Just the one's in the library."

"Well it's no wonder then," she said, shaking her head. "Most of the Divination books were removed a few years ago to make room for a set of Quidditch almanacs."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"The headmaster has little time for Divination. Sometimes I wonder why he even keeps me on, when he obviously doesn't like my subject."

"So they just threw all the books away?"

"No, I was able to save some of them—the best ones, anyway. One would think the librarian would have wanted them, but _she_ seemed more concerned with the rubbish written by narrow-minded _skeptics_ who refuse to believe any magic that doesn't come from a wand." Trelawney took a deep breath before continuing more calmly, "But I can't say I'm surprised—Irma and I never did get along. She was the librarian when I was a student, you know, and she was just as priggish then as she is now. Why, I remember in my sixth year when she caught me in the History section with my boyfriend and—" She stopped abruptly. "Well, let's just say we were both banned from the library after that."

Harry took a long drink of tea to save himself from acknowledging any part of that story. "One of the books I read was called _Seeing is Believing_ ," he said, hoping to get the lesson back on track.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" said Trelawney. "It sounds like it would have evidence to _support_ the art of Divination, does it not? Maybe some famous prophecies, that sort of thing? Instead it's just a lot of tripe about how to spot false prophets!"

Harry waited again to make sure her rant was finished.

"So, the methods of Divination?" he prompted.

For the remainder of their lesson, Professor Trelawney gave him an overview of some of the most common methods of Divination, explaining a bit of the theory behind them and how they were practiced. Harry was fascinated by the countless different ways Seers tried to focus their Eye or tune it to a particular Object. Some methods, like palm reading, were straightforward enough. Others, like astrology and cartomancy, sounded horribly complicated. Harry's head was spinning by the time Professor Trelawney had explained the trumps in her deck of tarot cards. They had moved on to oracles and their prophecies when a clock chimed somewhere in the back of the classroom.

"Has it really been an hour?" muttered Trelawney. She pulled out a pocket watch to verify the time.

Harry could hardly believe it, either. He figured Hermione and Neville were still busy, but it wouldn't be long before they noticed he was missing.

"I'd better get going," he said, standing up.

"You'll come again next Saturday?"

Harry couldn't miss the hopefulness in her voice. The truth was he was looking forward to it, too. Despite her digressions, Trelawney had proved to be an excellent teacher.

"Same time?"

"If that suits you," she said with a wide smile.

"Good," he said, stepping toward the trapdoor. "Er, good night, then."

"Good night." She stood and followed him to the door. "And, Harry—thank you for giving me a chance."

~o~

Harry was playing Exploding Snap with Hermione and Neville in the common room a few days later when a second-year girl approached him. She held out a tightly furled scroll of parchment tied with a crimson ribbon.

"Here," she said. "I was told to give you this."

"Er, thanks," said Harry, accepting the little scroll. He untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment to find a brief note written in thin, slanting handwriting.

"What is it?" said Hermione.

"Dunno." Harry read the note a second time and was still none the wiser. "The headmaster wants to see me."

He handed the note to Hermione and Neville, who read it together.

"What did you do?" said Neville.

"Don't be silly," said Hermione. "If he was in trouble Professor Dumbledore wouldn't send him a note, he'd send a teacher to collect him." She read the note again. "I can't imagine what he wants, though."

"I suppose I'd better go find out," said Harry. He dropped his cards on the table as he stood, causing several of them to explode. "What's it say the password is?"

Hermione handed him the parchment. "Ice Mice."

It was a short walk from the Gryffindor common room to the seventh-floor entrance to the headmaster's study. After giving the password to the stone gargoyle that stood guard in the corridor, Harry was carried by a moving spiral staircase up to the thick oak door of Dumbledore's office. He didn't have to knock. The moment he reached for the door's brass knocker, Dumbledore called, "Enter," and the door opened.

"Good evening, sir," said Harry as he stepped inside.

Dumbledore was sitting at a very large desk straight ahead of Harry. All around him there were cabinets and tables filled with the most wondrous array of delicate silver instruments and crystal ornaments. Portraits of old headmasters adorned the walls and to Harry's left sat Fawkes, the phoenix Hermione had told him about.

"Good evening, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Please have a seat."

As he took his seat in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, Harry's eye was immediately drawn to something he hadn't noticed before. There was an antique full-length mirror standing behind Dumbledore. With its impressive height, polished gold frame, and oddly conspicuous placement, Harry was astonished that he could have missed it when he first entered the room.

"Well, my boy," Dumbledore began, pulling Harry's attention away from the mirror, "I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here." He waited for Harry to nod. "Given your special circumstances, I simply wanted to check how you've been adapting to the magical world. Are you enjoying your time at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir. It's been great." Harry tried not to fidget as Dumbledore looked at him with grandfatherly affection. "I like it very much."

"That's wonderful!" said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling brightly. "And how about your lessons?"

Harry told him he was doing well in his classes, though he suspected the headmaster already knew that. As Harry spoke, Dumbledore turned his chair and propped his feet on a short footstool upholstered in purple velvet. It was then that Harry happened to catch a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror which was placed so curiously behind the headmaster's desk.

What he saw made him gasp.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" asked Dumbledore with affected innocence.

"No, sir," Harry replied much too quickly.

Dumbledore made a show of following Harry's line of sight. With his chair turned as it was, he had a clear view of both Harry and the mirror.

"Ah! The Mirror of Erised! I'd almost forgotten it was here," said Dumbledore, rising from his seat to examine it. "In fact, I'm glad you've gotten this chance to see it, Harry, since I'll soon be moving it to its new home …" Dumbledore let that pronouncement dangle, as if inviting Harry to question it. When Harry said nothing, however, he was forced to move on. "I suppose you've realized what it does?"

"Yes, sir."

It wasn't hard for Harry to guess once he'd seen what the mirror showed him.

"It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts," Dumbledore explained unnecessarily.

Finally pulling his gaze from the mirror, Harry was startled to see that Dumbledore was now standing much closer to him. Dumbledore's bright blue eyes were watching him closely.

"What do you see, when you look in the Mirror, Harry?" asked Dumbledore in a kind voice.

Harry balked. He wasn't about to tell anyone what he saw in the mirror, least of all a total stranger. "Isn't that rather, um … personal, sir?"

Dumbledore tilted his head as if considering a very novel idea. He hummed in apparent understanding.

"What if I tell you what I see and then you can tell me what you see," he offered. "Does that sound like a fair trade, my boy? I'll even go first!" And without waiting for Harry's answer, he steeled himself and stepped in front of the mirror. "I see—" But his voice faltered and the light in his eyes was extinguished. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks," he murmured with uncharacteristic gravity.

Harry feigned a sudden interest in Fawkes, allowing Dumbledore some time to recover from whatever it was that had so unnerved him. When he turned away from the sleeping phoenix a minute later, he found Dumbledore was returned to normal again, smiling cheerfully and looking expectantly at him.

"Well, Harry?"

"Er …" Harry's mind was racing as he rose from his chair and approached the mirror. He had to say something. How could he refuse after that display by Dumbledore? "Me, too," he blurted out. "I see socks … um, green ones with Golden Snitches," he invented wildly.

A small frown creased Dumbledore's forehead. He sank back into his chair, looking extraordinarily disappointed.

"If there's nothing else, sir?" Harry started inching toward the door.

"No, nothing," said Dumbledore with a heavy sigh. "You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry made his way swiftly to the exit, only pausing at the threshold for one last glimpse into that incredible mirror, where Potters and Grangers gathered together to watch all of his dreams come true.


	6. Christmas with the Grangers

"You feeling alright, Harry? You look a bit pale."

Harry ignored Seamus and continued to massage his forehead as they filed out of Defense Against the Dark Arts. The overwhelming stench of garlic that permeated Professor Quirrell's classroom always gave him a headache. To Harry's annoyance, the other boys had taken this as a sign of his hidden vampiric tendencies.

"Yeah, some sunlight would do you good, mate," said Dean, sniggering.

"Can't you think of a new joke?" said Hermione, shooting a reproving glare at the two boys. She turned to Harry. "How _are_ you feeling, Harry? Maybe Madam Pomfrey could give you something."

"I'm fine, Hermione. My headache's nearly gone. And besides," he said, taking her hand, "we have business to attend to."

"Business?" said Neville.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I have a letter to send to my parents. Harry put in a thank you for letting him come for Christmas."

"Ah …" said Neville, rapidly losing interest. "Say hello to Hedwig for me," he called as Harry dragged Hermione away.

It was a long walk from the Defense classroom to the owlery, but as they climbed the steep spiral staircase to the very top of the tower, Harry felt like he was walking on air. And it wasn't just holding hands with Hermione that had put a bounce in his step—everything seemed to be going his way lately.

All the effort he'd put into his schoolwork was paying off (he had actually tied Hermione on their last Charms quiz!) and he was even making some progress in his Divination lessons. After struggling for weeks with the mental exercises that were supposed to help him control his Inner Eye, he'd made a breakthrough during their last meeting. The really exciting part was that Professor Trelawney said their lessons could now focus less on theory and meditation and more on practice. He had already tried reading tea leaves and casting lots, but neither had seemed to work for him. By her own admission, Trelawney wasn't entirely sure how they would know when Harry found a suitable form of Divination (unless he got lucky and Saw on his first attempt), so for now they were spending each lesson experimenting with a new method.

Besides his Divination lessons and his ever-improving grades, Harry was also thrilled about the prospect of spending the holidays with the Grangers. Ever since Hermione had received her parents' permission to invite him, he couldn't wait for term to end so he could begin celebrating his first real Christmas. The only hiccup had been the realization that he would have to wear his Muggle clothes at the Grangers'. He'd had a minor panic attack at the thought of meeting his future in-laws while wearing Dudley's outsized cast-offs. First impressions were important, after all, and he was desperate to make a good one. Fortunately, he'd remembered Neville's owl-order catalogues and found a small selection of Muggle clothes in the back of the Gladrags catalogue. They only had a few shirts, pants, and sweaters to choose from, but it was enough to ensure Hermione's parents wouldn't mistake him for a street urchin.

"Hello, Hedwig," Hermione called as they reached the top of the stairs and entered the cold owlery.

Hedwig swooped down from her perch high in the rafters of the open loft and landed on Harry's shoulder.

"Aren't you freezing, girl?" said Hermione, her own breath visible as she stroked Hedwig's feathers.

"She's a _snowy owl_ , Hermione. She's used to the cold."

Hermione continued to pet Hedwig, pretending not to hear him.

"Can you take a letter to my parents, Hedwig?"

Hedwig cooed lazily in reply.

When Hermione had fastened their letters to the owl's outstretched leg, Hedwig nuzzled her hand affectionately and gave Harry's shoulder an extra squeeze before taking flight. Harry and Hermione followed her to the window, tiptoeing gingerly through the mess of straw and owl droppings on the floor, and watched as she swooped down over the grounds, heading south.

"Isn't that Madam Bones?" said Hermione, pointing in front of the castle.

Harry, who had been watching the little speck that was Hedwig fade into the pale sky, squinted down below, where a witch in a black traveling cloak was coming up the path from Hogsmeade. He could just make out a glint of sunlight off her right eye as she turned her head toward the lake.

"Yep, that's Bones."

He had only seen the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement once before, shortly after the incident at Halloween, but even from this distance her monocle was unmistakable.

"I can't believe she's still investigating," said Hermione.

Harry made a noncommittal sound and turned away from the window. He supposed he should be thankful for anything that redirected Hermione's insatiable curiosity away from his clandestine Divination lessons, but he still didn't share her interest in the troll investigation.

"Ready?" he said.

"I suppose," said Hermione, stepping away from the window. She held out her hand.

Harry wasn't sure when they had gotten into the habit of holding hands everywhere they went, but he wasn't about to complain. As far as he was concerned, it was just one more thing going his way.

~o~

Hermione had waited weeks for this—months, really—and now that the day had arrived, she couldn't stand to wait a minute longer. But no matter how fast or how hard she tapped her toe on the floor of their compartment, the Hogwarts Express still crawled into King's Cross station at the same leisurely pace.

"Hermione, do you need the loo? I'm sure there's time," said Harry.

"No, I don't need _the loo!_ " She gave him a playful swat on the arm. "I'm just excited—I haven't seen my parents since September first!"

It had been by far the longest time Hermione had ever been away from home. And it wasn't just the time, either—her life was so _different_ now. She was different. She was no longer the lonely little girl who had left London sixteen weeks before—she was a witch now and at Hogwarts she had found a place where she truly belonged. She only wished she could share all the magic she'd learned with her parents …

As the train finally came to a full stop at platform nine and three-quarters, Hermione's ruminations gave way to excitement again.

"Come on!" she said, springing from her seat. Before Harry could respond, she grabbed his arm and began tugging him toward the door. She might not be able to share her magic with her parents, but she'd brought the best part of her new world home with her. "Let's go find my mum and dad," she said as she flung the compartment door open.

"Hermione, our trunks," said Harry, pulling her back into the compartment.

"No time—we'll come back and—"

"Hermione, we need our things. And we should say bye to Neville, too."

"Oh, alright," she said, wondering when Harry had stolen her role as the sensible one. She spun around to look at their round-faced friend and caught him snickering at her silliness. With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione took hold of her trunk and said, "Goodbye, Neville. I hope you have a wonderful holiday."

Neville burst out laughing. "You too, Hermione. I'll see you guys next year."

"See you, mate," said Harry, clapping Neville on the back. "Happy Christmas."

With their trunks dragging behind them, Hermione and Harry took considerably longer to leave the train than she would have liked. If it wasn't for Harry and his insistence that they bring their things with them rather than go back for them, they would have been off the platform ages ago and she could be hugging her mum and dad by now. Instead, they were still standing on the wrong side of the barrier, loading their trunks onto a cart.

Harry just didn't share her sense of urgency. That was natural enough since they weren't his parents, but now that she looked at him properly, she could swear he looked like he was pushing their cart to his doom.

"Harry?" She laid her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said with a wan smile, "just want to make a good impression, you know …"

Hermione gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. She'd never realized Harry would worry about such a thing—not that he needed to worry. She was sure her parents were going to love him. Still, it was a bit odd that the boy who faced down Malfoy and Snape like it was nothing would be so uneasy about meeting—

 _Her parents!_ She spotted them in the Muggle crowd almost the instant she and Harry stepped through the barrier.

"Mum! Dad!"

Hermione launched herself into her father's arms and he laughed and twirled her around once, nearly striking an elderly woman who was trying to get to platform ten.

"Well, hullo, to you, too," he said, setting her back on the ground.

After hugging her mother, Hermione stepped back to look at her parents. They'd lost their summer tans since she'd last seen them, but otherwise looked the same as ever. For a moment the three reunited Grangers just stood there grinning at each other, until Hermione remembered her manners.

Turning around, she found Harry standing a few feet away from them, his face ashen. She wondered again at his strange behavior today—but it wasn't just today, was it? Harry had been acting strangely for weeks: vanishing for hours every Saturday, not telling her where he'd been, making lousy excuses why she couldn't go with him…. Something was definitely going on with her friend—something Harry didn't want her to know about—but Hermione didn't have time to dwell on it now. She'd come back to it later …

"Mum, dad, this is my friend Harry," she said, motioning for him to come over and meet her parents. "Harry, these are my parents, Richard and Helen Granger."

"P-pleased to meet you," said Harry.

Hermione could barely hide her amusement at the scared look on Harry's face as her father shook his hand. Her father was hardly an intimidating man—he was of average height, average weight, mild-mannered, clean-shaven, casually dressed—and yet Harry was almost trembling as he stared up into the dentist's kindly blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," said her father. "Here, why don't I help you with those trunks?"

"That's okay, sir, I can get them."

Harry rushed back to their cart, but with two long strides, her father beat him to it.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, slipping her hand into his. She decided the best way to deal with his odd behavior was to ignore it for now. Maybe he'd stop trying to impress her parents once he'd gotten to know them better. "You can tell my mum about Hagrid. She didn't believe me when I wrote how big he is."

"Yes, I want to hear all about Hogwarts," said her mother. Her eyes lingered on Hermione and Harry's joined hands. "I'm sure there's a lot Hermione couldn't fit into her letters."

With Hermione's encouragement, Harry told her parents all about Hagrid getting stuck on the London Underground. The more he talked, the more he seemed to relax, and by the time they reached their car, Hermione thought he seemed to be back to his usual self again. She was glad, then, that Harry didn't notice her mother's teasing smirk when they were forced to stop holding hands in order to climb into the backseat of the car.

When they arrived home, Harry tried to help unload their trunks from the car, but Hermione insisted on showing him the house. Leading him by the hand, she took him on a grand tour of their two-story home, making sure to point out important things like the living room where they could watch television later and the study where they would do their homework.

"And this," she said as they reached the second floor, "is the guest room where you'll sleep." She opened the door and led him inside. "My room's the next door down and the bathroom's across from us."

Harry looked around his guest room in awe.

"Well, what do you think?" she said.

"Hermione, this is brilliant!" He plopped down on the bed. "Thanks for inviting me," he said, testing the mattress. "I can already tell this is going to be better than spending Christmas at Hogwarts. Your parents seem really nice."

"I told you they were," said Hermione as Harry bounced back off the bed. "Want to go see what we're having for dinner? I forgot to show you the kitchen, anyway."

Now that Harry had overcome his initial apprehension (which Hermione still didn't understand), he had a much easier time talking with her parents at dinner. He got along especially well with her father, who seemed rather pleased when Hermione told him how Harry had stood up to Ronald Weasley and the other bullies for her. Later that evening, Harry even helped to put up the last of the Christmas decorations. Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cover her ears as her dad and her best friend marched around the house together, each humming a different Christmas carol while they hung garlands of holly over every doorway.

~o~

On Christmas morning, Harry woke to a pounding on his bedroom door. His first disoriented thought was that it must be his birthday if Hagrid had come to knock down the door again.

"Harry, wake up!"

"Uh?" he said, fumbling for his glasses.

"It's Christmas!" shouted Hermione.

"Hermione, let the poor boy sleep," he heard a tired voice say.

"It's okay, Mrs. Granger, I'm up," he called.

That was all the invitation Hermione needed. She threw the door open and burst into his room.

" _Hermione!_ " cried Mrs. Granger.

"I'll get her," yawned Mr. Granger as he stepped into the room. Like Hermione, he was wearing his flannel pajamas. "Sorry about this one, Harry," he said, scooping an indignant Hermione off the floor and carrying her back into the hallway.

"Daddy, put me down!" she yelled, trying to wriggle out of her father's arms. Harry could still hear Hermione grumbling as Mr. Granger carried her all the way downstairs.

Mrs. Granger poked her head through the open door.

"As long as you're up, you might as well come down and open your presents," she said. "I doubt Hermione will wait much longer."

Laughing, Harry scrambled out of bed and followed her down the stairs. As soon as they entered the living room, Hermione pulled him over to the sofa, where she had arranged their presents in two piles.

"This one's from Neville and I," she said, lifting a parcel from the top of his pile.

Harry tore off the wrapping paper to find a handsome leather-bound book with a shiny brass clasp.

Hermione poked him in the arm. "Don't stare at it— _open it!_ "

As Harry undid the clasp and flipped the book open, the witty reply he had been about to make died on his tongue.

"We sent letters to a bunch of your parents' friends asking for photos. That one's from Hagrid—he's the one who gave us the list of people to write—and there's some photos from Neville's grandmother, of course, and Professor McGonagall had some, too, and a man called Remus Lupin, and a Mrs. Pettigrew who was a friend's mother, and Richard Bones, who I think might be Susan's dad, or maybe uncle," babbled Hermione.

Harry wasn't listening. He was completely fixated on the photo album in his hands. "Hermione, this is amazing—more than amazing!" he added, flipping to the next page, where his dad was feeding him in his highchair.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Thank you." He closed the photo album and hugged her. "I got you something, but it's not as good as this," he said, setting the album safely on the coffee table. He pointed her to two parcels. "I got you two, actually."

One was a book, of course—a magical edition of _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ with moving illustrations. The other was a bag that had been charmed to be feather-light.

"Handy," said Mr. Granger when Hermione explained how the bag worked. He picked one of the numerous books Hermione had yet to unwrap and dropped it in the bag. "Does it have a limit?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "The charm should work on anything that fits in the bag."

"Hmph! We'll see about that," muttered Mr. Granger.

While Hermione unwrapped several more books, Harry turned to his own pile of unopened presents. The first two were from the Grangers: a warm winter hat and a matching pair of gloves.

"Hermione's told us how cold it gets at Hogwarts," said Mrs. Granger.

"Thanks," said Harry. "I got you and Mr. Granger something, too." Knowing that Hermione's parents were dentists, he had ordered them a supply of Toothflossing Stringmints and two magical self-brushing toothbrushes. While Mrs. Granger opened their present, Harry looked across the room at Mr. Granger, who was still testing Hermione's feather-weight bag with heavier and heavier objects. "Though if I'd known Hermione's bag would be such a hit, I would've gotten you one, too," he said with a grin.

"You didn't have to get us anything, Harry, but thank you," said Mrs. Granger, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "It's very sweet of you."

Harry's next present was a hand-carved wooden flute from Hagrid. He tried it once and was surprised by how pretty the rough-hewn instrument sounded.

Harry looked quizzically at his two remaining presents. He had already opened presents from Hermione and Neville, the Grangers, and Hagrid, so who could these be from? He picked up the larger of the two and ripped the wrapping paper open. A silvery cloth spilled through his fingers and fell into a pool on the carpet.

"Oh!" Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth.

"What is it?" said Mr. Granger.

Harry picked up the cloth. It was a cloak.

"Harry, try it on!" said Hermione.

Harry looked at the cloak again. It was easily twice his size.

"Just try it!" she said.

Wondering what Hermione was so excited about, Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and drew the hood over his head.

Hermione clapped gleefully. "I knew it!"

"Bloody hell!" said Mr. Granger, dropping Hermione's bag and all her books on the floor.

Mrs. Granger stepped cautiously toward him. "Harry?"

"It's okay, mum, he's only invisible."

"I am?" Harry tried to look down at his hands, but they weren't there. "Whoa!" He pulled the cloak off to examine it again.

"Harry, who sent you that?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know. See if there's a note."

Hermione searched the discarded wrapping paper and uncovered a note written in thin, slanting handwriting.

"It's from the headmaster," she said, handing it to Harry.

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose and read it out loud:

"'When your father first showed this magnificent cloak to me, he called it the secret to his success. I daresay it explained his talent for mischief at school, as well as our inability to catch him at it. He happened to leave it in my possession before he died, but I think it is time it was returned to you. Use it well, Harry.

"'Wishing you a very merry Christmas, Albus Dumbledore.'"

There was a silence as they all looked at the Invisibility Cloak again.

"'Use it well'—what a thing to tell a child," Mrs. Granger finally said. She looked sternly at Harry. "Please be responsible, Harry."

"I will," he quickly promised.

"Or at least don't get caught," said Mr. Granger.

Harry chuckled as he picked up his last present. It was a very small parcel, containing only a note with a fifty-pence piece taped to it. His smile faded as he read it:

 _We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. Please ask if those people will have you for the summer holidays, too. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._

"Who's that from?" asked Hermione.

"Just my aunt and uncle."

Harry folded the note and made to tuck it in his pajama pocket. He had no intention of sharing this one with Hermione and her parents. As he shoved the paper into his pocket, however, the coin broke free and fell to the floor between them.

Hermione's eyes locked onto it.

" _Fifty pence!_ " The sharpness of her voice silenced her parents, who had been sharing a joke over by the tree. "That's what your relatives gave you?"

Harry simply nodded. There was nothing else he could do. The fifty-pence piece was sitting on the carpet for all to see. Hermione held out her hand for the note he had failed to hide. Harry took one look at the fearsome expression on her face and knew he had no choice.

"It's not a big deal," he cautioned, handing over the paper. "Really, it doesn't even matter to me."

Hermione actually growled as she read Uncle Vernon's note. Harry braced himself for an explosion, but she only marched over to her parents and shoved the paper into her mother's hands.

"Please, mum?"

Mrs. Granger's face darkened as she read the note. She then passed it to her husband.

"Daddy?"

Mr. and Mrs. Granger conferred silently for a moment before Mr. Granger cleared his throat.

"Harry, would you like to visit this summer?" he asked.

Any response Harry might have made was lost, however, as Hermione let out an ear-splitting squeal and began dashing around the room, hugging everyone.


	7. Harry's Secret

Harry was very glad, when the train arrived at Hogsmeade Station, that they didn't have to ride a boat across the lake this time—not that they could have without the aid of an icebreaker. The village and countryside were buried under a foot of snow.

"This way, Harry," Hermione called over the howling wind. She grabbed him by his coat sleeve and pulled him out of the station, where a line of horseless carriages was waiting to carry them up to the school. "Honestly," she said, pointing Harry into an empty carriage, "you're as bad as Neville sometimes. I swear you two would be lost without me."

It wasn't until their carriage started to move that either of them realized that they had indeed lost Neville on the platform.

"He's probably wandering around Hogsmeade by now," said Harry as he watched the sleet blow against the window.

"No, someone would have shown him the way," said Hermione. She glanced nervously back at the station. "I hope."

Their ride up the snow-covered road to Hogwarts was slow, but surprisingly comfortable, as the carriage seats were equipped with powerful warming charms.

"So," said Hermione as they rounded a curve and the castle came into view, "what's the first thing you're going to do now that we're back?"

"I guess dinner's first," said Harry, checking his watch.

Hermione jabbed him in his side. "I meant after that, you prat."

"Oh …" The truth was that Harry had a Divination lesson scheduled directly after dinner, but Hermione wasn't to know that. "Maybe I'll visit Hedwig," he said instead. "I haven't seen her in over two weeks."

From the look Hermione gave him, Harry couldn't tell if she bought that or not. Her curiosity about where he disappeared to every weekend had only grown since November and he was running out of excuses. Really, it was amazing that he'd been able to keeping his secret this long, as clever and inquisitive as Hermione was.

"Well, believe it or not," she said, "I have to visit the library. I haven't seen it in two weeks, you know," she added with a laugh.

Once Harry and Hermione had entered the castle and removed their hats and knocked the snow off their shoes, they noticed a most unlikely duo waiting for them in the entrance hall: Neville, who had evidently found his way to the carriages without them, stood beside none other than their headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. As Harry and Hermione approached, both Neville and Dumbledore spoke simultaneously:

"Harry! Hermione! How was—"

"Harry, my boy, how are—"

Dumbledore stopped and looked down at Neville, the corners of his mustache twitching as the boy's face turned red.

"Sorry, Professor."

"No need to apologize," said Dumbledore genially. "But I do need to speak with you, Harry. Alone, if you don't mind."

"Neville and I will wait in the Hall," said Hermione.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom. I'll only keep Harry a moment, I promise." Dumbledore waited for them to disappear into the Great Hall before he said anything further. "I can see you've already made some good friends, Harry."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent, excellent," said Dumbledore. "It was kind of the Grangers to invite you into their home for Christmas. I trust you had a pleasant time?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry quickly.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "I would ask, however, that in the future you inform me of any such visits beforehand."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Your safety is very important to me, Harry. And—" he looked very seriously around the now empty entrance hall and then continued in a lower voice, "there are certain … _indications_ … that the Dark Lord may be gaining strength, again."

"You mean Voldemort?"

Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder proudly.

"I'm pleased you are not afraid to speak his name, Harry. And yes, I mean Voldemort. It is my hope that when you're not using your father's old cloak to escape Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris—who, incidentally, can smell you even when you're invisible, so be sure to keep that in mind—but as I was saying, it is my hope that your father's cloak will be of some aid, should you ever find yourself facing Lord Voldemort, again."

"Er, yes, sir."

Harry really didn't know how else to respond to that. Hagrid said no one even knew if Voldemort was alive or dead, so what indications could Dumbledore have that the Dark Lord was gaining strength?

"Well," said Dumbledore, lifting his hand from Harry's shoulder. "That's all I had to say, so I had better let you join your friends before Miss Granger organizes a search party. I hope you find the new term as enjoyable as the old one, Harry. And remember," he added as Harry turned to leave, "Mr. Filch may be hard of hearing, but Mrs. Norris can hear a pin drop from three floors away, so— _be careful!_ "

In the Great Hall, Harry took his usual seat beside Hermione and Neville and wasted no time in telling them everything Dumbledore had said.

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said when he'd finished. "All the book's say that Voldemort"—Neville flinched and almost spilled his pumpkin juice down his front—"is dead, so something about this doesn't add up."

"You're telling me. Do you think Dumbledore could be right, though, and Voldemort might be coming back?"

Neville flinched again.

"It seems unlikely," said Hermione. "If he's been alive all this time, why hasn't he come back before? Why now?"

"Dumbledore didn't say," said Harry, looking up at the staff table. He should have asked the headmaster these questions when he had the chance. "All he said was there are signs the Dark Lord might be gaining strength."

Hermione pushed a tray of sandwiches toward Harry, who'd gotten so caught up in discussing Dumbledore's information about the Dark Lord that he hadn't eaten anything yet.

"It's supposed to be impossible to come back from the dead," she said. "Although, I suppose if anyone could manage it, it would be Voldemort."

Neville flinch a third time.

"I'd like to know what signs Dumbledore sees, though, because I haven't read anything about this in the _Prophet_."

"And Dumbledore only said he _might_ be gaining strength," said Harry, his doubts about what the headmaster told him mounting. He took one of the sandwiches. "What do you think, Nev?"

Neville shrugged. "Gran says Dumbledore's been warning You-Know-Who would return ever since the war ended. She doesn't believe it, though, and I reckon I don't, either. Like Hermione said, it's been ten years, so if he's still alive, where is he?"

"Hiding?" said Harry. "Hagrid told me some people say he's out there biding his time until he can come back."

"People used to think that …" said Neville. He stared down into his goblet of pumpkin juice, seeming to debate with himself. After a moment, he continued in a hoarse whisper: "Some of You-Know-Who's followers went looking for him after the war, you know. That's when my parents were attacked …"

There was a long silence. Neither Harry nor Hermione knew quite what to say to console their friend. It was the first time they'd ever heard him talk about what happened to his parents.

"After that," said Neville, "even the Death Eaters gave up looking for him, so I reckon he really is gone."

The rest of dinner passed quietly. Between Dumbledore's warning and Neville's revelation about his parents, they each had a lot to think about.

Skipping dessert, Harry said goodbye to Hermione and Neville and began the trek to the top of the North Tower. At that moment, he felt like Divination was exactly what he needed. If only he could See something— _anything_ —that might tell him if Dumbledore was right, if Voldemort really was coming back to get him. Unfortunately, Divination didn't work that way. That was one of Trelawney's first lessons: a Seer does not See what they want to See, but what they need to See. And for Harry, that was Hermione…. But as he thought back to that first premonition on the train, he realized that he _had_ Seen something that could answer his question—he had Seen a future with Hermione! A future that couldn't exist if Voldemort came back to kill him!

Harry nearly skipped up the stairs, giddy with relief. He felt like a great weight had been lifted off his back. No matter what indications Dumbledore had of Voldemort's return, Harry knew better. It would take more than an undead Dark Lord to keep him from his destiny.

~o~

By the third week of January, Harry could tell his luck was about to run out. Hermione was getting suspicious about his weekly disappearances and he couldn't blame her—he had been acting pretty fishy at times (even Neville was starting to notice) and Hermione simply couldn't resist a good puzzle, whether it was the crossword in the _Daily Prophet_ , one of McGonagall's fiendishly difficult homework problems, or her best friend's odd behavior.

Each week, it became harder to get away. As her doubts about Harry's alibis grew, Hermione kept a watchful eye on him and always seemed to know when he was trying to slip out of the room. "Off to the owlery again, Harry?" she would call across the common room when she caught him. And as he escaped through the portrait hole, Harry would promise himself (again) that he would think of a better excuse before his next lesson.

Despite the headache of keeping it secret, Harry's Divination training was actually going very well. He hadn't Seen anything yet, but they covered one or two new methods of Divination each week and Professor Trelawney thought it was only a matter of time until they hit upon the right one.

"We've already eliminated tea leaves, palmistry, gyromancy, ouija boards, and several forms of card reading," she told him. "I still think you should give crystal gazing another try, but we're making good progress. I can tell you grasp the theory much more quickly now, so it won't be long before we figure out how to convert that understanding into results."

Trelawney also hinted that she had some special outdoor lessons planned, but as early January's snow and sleet had given way to one wintry rainstorm after another, they would have to wait for conditions to improve.

In the meantime, Harry had plenty of work to keep him occupied. His official classes now required more reading and homework than ever. McGonagall and Snape in particular seemed to be having a competition to see who could assign their first years the longest essay. Between writing a two-foot essay on the Transfiguration of small rodents and a thirty-two-inch essay on the uses of dittany in Potion-making, Harry was so busy he didn't have time for much else.

It wasn't until the middle of February—four weeks after Professor Trelawney had originally promised an outdoor lesson—that the weather cooperated enough to allow them to leave the castle. Trelawney had insisted that the topic of their special lesson should be a surprise, so Harry had no clue where she was leading him as they marched across the soggy Hogwarts grounds one Saturday morning.

"Today's method," she said as they neared a quaint little house surrounded by a wire fence, "is a form of alectryomancy, which I usually save for my N.E.W.T. students."

She opened a gate in the fence and led Harry over to what he now recognized as a very elaborate hen house. Harry couldn't decide if it looked more like a miniature mansion or a gigantic doll house—the coop was almost five feet tall with a veranda on one side, bay windows on the other, and a shingled roof complete with two chimneys. A little puff of smoke rose out of one of the chimneys as Harry looked on in amazement.

"I'll get the feed out of the shed," said Trelawney, heading toward a smaller building behind the main house.

At the sound of the shed door swinging open, four fat hens came out onto the veranda.

Harry stooped to peer through one of the house's low glass windows. It was far roomier inside than he'd expected. It was cleaner, too: the carpeting was spotless.

"This is bizarre!"

"It's the least we can do for them when we take all their eggs," said Professor Trelawney.

Harry straightened up to see she had returned with two burlap sacks full of grain and a line of chickens following her.

"There are two more houses back behind the West Tower. Even then, it takes Professor Kettleburn casting Fertility Charms to get them to lay enough eggs for all our breakfasts."

Harry looked again at the hen house and frowned as he did the arithmetic. How many eggs did these chickens lay? Professor Trelawney spotted the source of his confusion before he could phrase a question.

"There are about eighty hens in all and Professor Kettleburn has them each laying up to five eggs per day, I think."

Trelawney shook her sack of grain and all the chickens gathered around her. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.

"Now, on to the Divination," she said. "Take a sack and start spreading the grain around. Try not to think too much about what you're doing. You want the distribution of the grain to be controlled by your subconscious, so relax and clear your mind like we practiced."

Harry took a deep, calming breath of cold air and dipped his hand into the sack of grain. A dozen hens came swarming around him, clucking and squawking at his feet.

"Uh, Professor?"

Trelawney didn't answer at first. She was totally absorbed in feeding her own flock of chickens, even talking to them and calling some of them by name.

"Professor?"

She looked up suddenly, as though she had forgotten he was there. "Yes, Harry?"

"What am I supposed to be doing? Besides feeding them, I mean."

"Just watching. Watch the grain, watch the hens, watch how they peck at it—open your mind to their patterns and rhythms."

Harry scattered more grain and spent the next few minutes observing the hens as they ate, trying to discern any meaning in all the commotion. He was just thinking how ridiculous he must look as he stood there and studied the chickens, and how glad he was that no one was around to see him, when he heard the gate creak open behind him.

"Harry?"

He whirled around. "Hermione! What are you doing here?"

"I followed you," she said without a trace of shame. "You've been disappearing every Saturday for weeks and avoiding my questions, keeping secrets…. I knew you were up to something and following you was the only way I could find out what was going on."

She looked at Harry holding his sack of grain and at the chickens milling around his feet. Then she looked at Professor Trelawney, who stared right back with her big glittering eyes.

"Harry, what _is_ going on?"

Harry's instinct was to dodge the question, but it wasn't going to be easy—she'd caught him red-handed!

"Harry, I think it's time that you tell Miss Granger the truth," said Professor Trelawney.

Harry dropped his sack of chicken feed at the mere thought. While he picked it back up, Trelawney walked over and in a low voice, said, "And tell her _everything_. I'll see you next week. Good luck!"

On her way to the gate, Trelawney handed her own sack of grain to Hermione. Peeking inside, Hermione took a small handful and dropped it on the ground for the two chickens that had wandered over to her.

"Harry?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I should have told you before. I suppose you have a right to know, too." He took a few breaths to steady himself, then plunged on: "I've been taking Divination lessons with Professor Trelawney. See, I'm … I'm a bit of a Seer."

He waited for Hermione to scoff and quote Professor McGonagall at him, to call him a liar or a fool, but she never did.

"That's why you were reading those Divination books last term?" she asked.

"Yeah …" When Hermione said nothing more, he went on, "So do you, um, believe me, then? That I'm a Seer?"

After thinking it over for a few seconds, Hermione nodded tentatively and Harry felt half his anxiety melt away.

"I didn't think you would, since you said Divination was just a lot of guesswork."

Hermione looked slightly abashed. "After reading the book Neville gave me for my birthday, that biography of Rowena Ravenclaw, I guess I changed my mind. Did you know she was a bit of a Seer, too? It doesn't sound so far-fetched now that I've learned more about it." She flashed him a mischievous grin and added, "As long as you're not asking me to believe Trelawney is a Seer."

Harry laughed, but he also felt a strong urge to defend the woman who had devoted so much of her time to helping him. "She is a good teacher, though," he said. Then he sobered as he remembered his teacher's parting advice: _tell her everything_. He swallowed hard. "Hermione, there's something else …"

Shaking from his head to his toes, Harry proceeded to tell her about his premonition on the train, about how he knew her birthday, and about how he'd spent the last five months trying to learn Divination so that he could understand these incidents—so he'd know if what he Saw was true.

When he finished, Hermione was silent for a long time. She had blushed at a few points while he was talking, but she hadn't spoken or even looked at him once since he'd told her his vision of their future. Now she just stood there with her hens, occasionally dropping a pinch of grain for them. Harry was certain she must have been disturbed by what he'd said. Surely the first words out of her mouth would be that she didn't believe it—or worse, that she didn't _want_ it to be true. With these thoughts of rejections running rampant in his mind, he was not at all prepared for what she finally said.

"Harry," she began in a small voice, "does this mean—are you saying you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"I, er, hope you're not mad," said Harry, looking down at his feet. He was terrified how Hermione might react to that. When he chanced a glance at her, however, he saw she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Mad?" she giggled. "How could I be mad at my boyfriend?"

Harry's heart skipped several beats. Hermione believed him— _accepted him!_ And in one sentence she had moved his plan to ask her out forward by two years!

With a big, goofy grin of his own, Harry dropped his sack of grain and stepped toward Hermione, who met him halfway with a forceful hug that almost sent them both tumbling to the ground. After an unusually long embrace, Hermione slowly released Harry. Her cheeks were glowing, but when their eyes met, Harry saw nothing but determination there. Then, before he could even ask himself what that was all about, she swooped in and kissed his cheek.

"I suppose we should clean up," she said in a would-be casual tone.

"Right," said Harry, touching his burning cheek.

They wrested their fallen sacks of grain from the hens and returned them to the shed. When they had closed the gate behind them, Harry held out his arm to Hermione and she flashed him another bright smile as she wrapped her arm around his. By unspoken agreement, they took a long, wandering route back to the castle, enjoying their first walk together as boyfriend and girlfriend despite the dreary weather. Along the way, Harry told Hermione a little more about his Divination lessons, which she found fascinating.

"I can't believe you never told me!" she exclaimed when he described his first lesson to her. "I guess I understand why you didn't, but still—all those visits to the owlery!" She shivered dramatically as a cold gust of wind blew down their necks. "Can we share a seat by the fire after this?" she said, sweeping her hair back out of her face.

Harry, who still hadn't fully recovered from that kiss on the cheek earlier, felt his face burning again.

"It's okay if you don't want to," she said.

"No, I do!" he almost yelled. "I'm nervous, that's all."

Hermione giggled as Harry's ears glowed red. "There's nothing to be nervous about, Harry. We've sat by the fire together before—we even shared a seat."

"I know, but that was before," he said. "Everything's, I dunno, _different_ now."

"Well, if you're nervous now, just wait until this summer," said Hermione.

"This summer?"

"When I reintroduce you to my parents as my boyfriend," she explained.

Harry felt the color finally drain from his face, which only made Hermione start giggling again.

"Oh, really Harry, my parents like you, remember?"

"Right," he said. "Right … I'm sure it'll be fine," he told himself.

"It will be," said Hermione. "Now come on, let's get inside."

It was a few minutes later, as they climbed the steps to the castle, that another startling thought suddenly struck Harry. It was such a frightening and yet thrilling thought that it stopped him in his tracks: _What exactly did Hermione's apparent acceptance of his premonition mean?_

There was only one way to find out.

"Uh … Hermione?" he said, blushing furiously and staring intently at his shoes. "Does this mean we're, um, engaged?"

Hermione's head turned so fast Harry thought she must have gotten whiplash.

" _What?_ " she squeaked. "No! No, no, no, no, no! We are _definitely_ not engaged, I don't care what you Saw in your vision or whatever it was. We are much, much too young! And if— _if_ —you do want to get engaged someday, I'm going to expect you to ask me properly," she said. "Is that clear?"

His question answered in no uncertain terms, Harry could only reply with a meek, "Yes, dear," as he held the castle door open for his maybe-future-but-definitely-not-current fiancée.


	8. The Field Trip

When Harry and Hermione got back from their walk and saw Neville sitting all by himself at their usual table in the common room, they both felt a bit guilty about sneaking off without him. As their closest friend, he deserved an explanation of where they'd gone and what had happened.

Hermione did most of the talking. She started by telling Neville about Harry's Gift in very general terms (glossing over the details of his first vision on the train), then recounted how she had followed Harry to his Divination lesson that morning. Though Neville was intrigued by that part of her story, even setting aside his Herbology book so he could give her his undivided attention, his reaction to the news that she and Harry were now a couple was a bit underwhelming. He simply nodded and said, "That makes sense."

"He didn't even congratulate us," Harry groused as they left Neville to his Herbology homework.

"Come on," said Hermione, steering him across the common room, "I know someone who will be more enthusiastic."

Harry groaned when he saw who they were heading towards. "Just don't tell them I'm a Seer," he hissed. "I don't want the whole school to know."

A minute later, as Lavender's squeal of, " _Finally!_ " echoed around the common room, Harry had a new appreciation for Neville's quiet response. The excitable girl nearly bounced out of her seat before her smile suddenly faltered. "But you missed Valentine's Day!" she said.

It was almost an accusation.

"Right … er, when was that again?" said Harry.

Lavender gave him a very patronizing look while Parvati giggled.

"It was yesterday," said Hermione, taking pity on her boyfriend.

"Oh …" Harry shifted awkwardly in the overstuffed armchair he was sharing with her. "Sorry, I guess?"

"It's not your fault, Harry," she said at once. "Besides, it's not like we could've had a date anyway—we're only twelve!"

"Eleven," corrected Harry.

At this, Parvati leaned over and whispered something in Lavender's ear that sounded suspiciously like " _older woman_ ," causing both girls to collapse in a fit of giggles which didn't end until long after Harry and Hermione had left.

Fortunately, the rest of the school's reaction to their new relationship was much closer to Neville's than Lavender's. Most of their classmates acted as though nothing had changed and even the Slytherins had nothing to say about it.

"You know, I don't get it," said Harry as he and Hermione sat down to lunch on Thursday. "Back in September, all they did was gossip about us. Now you're my girlfriend and no one cares. How d'you explain that?"

To Harry's surprise, it was not Hermione but Neville who had an explanation to give.

"Well," he said, "you were already together all the time, holding hands and stuff. I reckon no one's noticed a difference because they all thought you were boyfriend and girlfriend since school started."

The more Harry thought about it, the more obvious it became that Neville was right. Even Hagrid had called Hermione his girlfriend, but both he and Hermione had been too embarrassed at the time to correct that assumption. And if everyone had believed the stories the first time around, it only made sense that the new couple was already old news.

When Harry had his next Divination lesson that weekend, he found that Professor Trelawney, at least, was very interested to hear what had happened between Hermione and himself.

"She accepted your Gift so easily," Trelawney marveled, dunking a biscuit in her tea. "But I suppose it must seem very romantic to a young girl. Imagine—the boy you have a crush on is a Seer who only has Eyes for you, and now he's your boyfriend—a boyfriend you're fated to marry, no less … and so close to Valentine's Day," she added wistfully.

As the days went by, Harry's delight over his relationship with Hermione only grew. In many ways nothing had changed—he, Hermione, and Neville still studied in the library, visited Hagrid, played Gobstones, and went to the Quidditch matches (and the Gryffindor team was still rubbish)—but the one thing that _had_ changed made all the difference in the world. Harry's favorite days were those few when, weather and homework permitting, he and Hermione were able to escape the busy castle for a long walk around the lake. Eventually, as March arrived, the weather improved enough that Hermione didn't even have to conjure up a jar of enchanted blue flames to keep them warm or cast and recast a dozen charms to keep them dry.

It was on just such an early spring day, when Harry's wandering mind was wishing he were whiling away the afternoon with Hermione, that Professor Trelawney brought him tumbling back to earth with a surprise announcement.

"Next week," she declared at the conclusion of their lesson, "I have something special planned. As you may know, there is a herd of centaurs living in the Forbidden Forest. Centaurs are renowned Seers, of course, so I think it would be highly educational for you to meet them and—if you're lucky—learn something of their methods. They are a race of stargazers, so naturally that will be the focus of our lesson." She gave him a sharp look. "I assume you're up to speed on your Astronomy?"

"I think so," said Harry uncertainly.

"You'd better be," she said. "Centaurs do not suffer amateurs. They barely tolerate humans to begin with, so if we—or _you_ , rather—can't prove yourself to them, they can turn quite nasty, believe me."

"Will we be safe?" asked Harry, thinking rude centaurs might be the least of their worries. "I've heard all sorts of dangerous creatures live in the forest."

Professor Trelawney waved away his concern. "I doubt there's anything truly dangerous in there," she said. "The tales of werewolves and erklings and other Dark creatures living in the forest are preposterous. I hardly think they'd let such things near a school! Besides, I am a fully qualified witch and can defend us if it comes to that."

Harry was somewhat reassured by that logic, until she went on.

"Of course, as it is _forbidden_ , we'll have to go under cover of darkness."

"But you're a teacher! Surely if you're with me it's not forbidden."

"I may be a teacher, but only the Care of Magical Creatures teacher is authorized to take students near the forest, and even then it's only to a paddock at the forest's edge. It's a silly rule, but how can I request special permission to take you when you're not even officially one of my students?"

Harry tried every argument he could think of, but none could dissuade Professor Trelawney from this expedition. For some reason, she was determined that they must meet the centaurs. And he had to admit, if it didn't require a trip into the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night, he would have been quite keen to meet them, too. From what Hermione had told him, the forest was home to the only remaining herd in all of Britain.

"Are you sure it's safe?" he asked one last time. "Absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I am absolutely sure," she said, throwing up her hands. "There is nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ in the forest that I or any other adult couldn't handle. You act as though there'll be dragons and dementors behind every tree! Now, are you a Gryffindor, or aren't you?"

"Okay, okay," said Harry, caving in at last. "But I'm bringing my Invisibility Cloak. That way we can get away at the first sign of danger."

Professor Trelawney's eyebrows disappeared into her hair. "You have an Invisibility Cloak?" she said. "Well, we can just go in the daytime then!"

Harry laughed in relief, his fear over entering the forest dissipating. They'd be safe in the daytime, he felt certain of that.

~o~

" _Is she mad!?_ "

Hermione's voice reverberated off the walls of the deserted courtyard.

"That was my first thought, too," said Harry.

When Hermione had calmed down enough to listen, he explained Trelawney's reasoning that there could be nothing very bad near the school or they would have removed it.

Hermione sat back down on the step next to Harry.

"That does make sense," she said slowly.

"Plus, we're taking my Invisibility Cloak and going during the day."

She hummed in approval at those sensible precautions. "Okay, then," she said. "I want to go, too."

Harry goggled at her.

"Can I? Please?"

"You _want_ to go in the forest?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Meeting the centaurs will be fascinating."

"But it's forbidden," Harry reminded her.

"We'll be with a teacher."

Harry was completely taken aback by the confidence Hermione now had in the very same woman she had called mad less than five minutes before. But as pleased as he was that she trusted Trelawney despite his mentor's dubious credentials, he had to tell her the truth.

"Hermione, Trelawney isn't actually allowed to take students into the forest."

Hermione was undeterred, however.

"Technically, that's not true," she said. "According to _Hogwarts, a History_ , teachers are only forbidden from holding _lessons_ in the forest, which are defined as 'a regular session attended by two or more students.' Your Divination lessons are technically tutoring sessions, so the rule doesn't apply. Plus," she added when Harry was not persuaded by her lawyerly attention to the letter of the law, "Hagrid's not even a teacher and he took Fred and George into the forest for detention."

That was a good point, thought Harry. Dumbledore and the school governors probably wouldn't see things the same way, but if that's what _Hogwarts, a History_ said—and he was sure Hermione knew the book by heart—then maybe there was a loophole in the rule.

"Okay. I'll tell Trelawney you're coming with us," he said.

"Oh, I can't wait!" said Hermione. She celebrated her victory with a quick hug before rushing off to the library to prepare.

~o~

At precisely eight o'clock on Saturday morning, Harry and Hermione slipped into the unused first-floor classroom where they had agreed to meet Professor Trelawney.

"Ah, good, you're here," said a voice from under the dusty teacher's desk. With much haste and little dignity, Professor Trelawney emerged on hands and knees from her hiding spot. "You could have worn the cloak on your way in," she chided them, standing up. "You weren't seen, were you?"

"Nope," said Harry. Though Hermione had convinced him that what they were doing wasn't technically against the rules, they were all agreed that it was best to be discreet.

"Good," said Trelawney as she straightened her robes, which were covered in dust from the floor. "Now, where's this cloak? You did remember to bring it, didn't you?"

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and handed it to Professor Trelawney, who held its silvery material up to the light.

"Incredible," she breathed.

While Trelawney examined the cloak, Harry carefully stowed his bag under the same desk where she had been hiding. It would be safe there and he didn't want to carry it all the way into the forest. The only thing he needed was his wand and that was tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

Trelawney held out the cloak. "Shall we?"

"Will we all fit?" said Hermione, looking doubtful.

It took several tries, but in the end they did manage to fit under the cloak. It was terribly cramped, though, and very awkward walking the whole way down to the forest while pressed so close together. By the time they passed Hagrid's hut, Harry was beginning to get lightheaded from breathing Trelawney's heavy perfume.

"Hagrid's closed all his curtains," whispered Hermione. "Do you think he's ill? I haven't seen him all week!"

"Me neither. We can check on him tomorrow," said Harry. "Can we please take off the cloak, now?" he added as soon as they reached the edge of the forest.

Professor Trelawney glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. "Not yet. Wait until we're completely out of sight."

They only needed to go a hundred feet farther before they could no longer see the castle behind them. As he threw off the cloak and took a much needed step out of his teacher's personal space, Harry realized that he couldn't see much of the sky anymore, either. Though it had been a bright, sunny morning when they left the school, the forest's thick pine trees and tangled oaks let little of that light through.

"How do we find the centaurs?" asked Hermione.

"It shouldn't be too hard," said Professor Trelawney as she cast a sort of compass spell which made her wand spin in her hand. She looked right, then left, and then pointed straight ahead. "This way, I think."

Harry tried to catch Hermione's eye to ask if she still wanted to go through with this, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him onward through the dense forest.

They walked for several long hours—or so it seemed to Harry. Hermione and his watch both agreed that it was barely one hour. But in that hour, they journeyed so far into the forest, and took so many twists and turns as Trelawney's wand pointed the way, that Harry completely lost track of which direction they had come from. They were now deep within the seemingly endless forest, yet they had not seen so much as a hoof print, let alone a centaur.

"Do you think we're going the right way?" he asked Hermione as they stopped for the dozenth time so Trelawney could cast her compass spell.

"I hope so," she said, resting against a thick beech trunk and gesturing for Harry to join her. High above them, the branches of the old tree creaked in the breeze. "It is spooky in here, isn't it? All the shadows and funny noises—it reminds me of Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood?"

Hermione gasped. "You've never read _The Hobbit!_ "

She looked like she had half a mind to haul him off to the nearest Muggle bookstore and leave the centaurs for another day.

"Is it about a forest like this?"

"Oh, it's about much more than that!" she said, launching into a description of hobbits, dwarves, and Middle-earth. By the time she got to the goblins and Wargs, Harry was looking forward to reading the book himself. He was just asking Hermione if she had brought a copy to school when Professor Trelawney interrupted with a sudden, exasperated cry:

"Now, that can't be right!" She glowered at her wand, which was pointing back behind them. Then she gave it a good, hard shake and cast the compass spell again, only for the wand to spin in her hand and point straight ahead of them. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

"Professor?"

Cursing to herself about magical interference, Professor Trelawney didn't answer. But another, deeper voice did:

"Who are you," it said, "and what are you doing here?"

Then a blond-haired and palomino-bodied centaur stepped out of the trees ahead of them. Trelawney let out a celebratory whoop, which the centaur ignored.

"You are the Potter boy," he said, his blue eyes settling on Harry's scar. He glanced from Harry to Hermione and Professor Trelawney. "You should not have come here. The forest is not safe at this time."

"That's absurd," snapped Trelawney. "I am a teacher. I'm sure I can handle anything in here."

"Perhaps you could, ordinarily," the centaur said calmly, "but there is something lurking in this forest, something that does not belong."

"What do you mean?" said Hermione.

The centaur looked at her thoughtfully but didn't answer.

"The forest is not safe," he said again. "You must leave."

"Not safe?" Trelawney laughed derisively. "You'll have to come up with a better story than that if you want to get rid of us."

The centaur regarded her impassively, saying nothing, and Trelawney glared right back at him. Seeing that they were getting nowhere, Harry decided to try a different approach.

"Please, Mr.—?"

"You may call me Firenze," the centaur said, facing Harry.

"Firenze, we came all this way to meet the centaurs. Because—well, because I need your help," said Harry baldly.

"Our help?" repeated Firenze. "What help could you require from centaurs?"

Harry quickly explained the situation, trying to emphasize how much he needed the centaur's guidance. If Firenze was listening, he gave no indication—he simply stared unblinkingly into the trees until Harry had finished his story. Then he flicked his tail once.

"Interesting," he said solemnly.

"So, will you help me?"

Firenze flicked his tail again.

"I propose a trade, Harry Potter. I will help you, but in exchange you must leave this forest."

Trelawney didn't look happy about being told to leave the forest again, but Harry could tell that that part of the bargain was nonnegotiable.

"Deal," he said, extending his hand.

Firenze squeezed Harry's hand briefly and beckoned them to follow him.

"Come. This way. We can speak of your Gift while I escort you out of centaur territory."

As Firenze led them through the trees, he asked Harry to describe his first premonition on the train in more detail.

"Yes," he said when Harry had finished, "it is very different from how we centaurs See."

"Does that mean you won't be able to help me?" said Harry.

Firenze didn't immediately answer. He stared into the distance as though lost in thought, his tail swishing back and forth with every step.

"Centaurs observe the heavens," he said, still staring straight ahead. "We burn certain herbs and leaves and study their flames. We watch the sky for years to be sure of what we See there." He turned his pale blue eyes on Harry. "Your Gift, by contrast, is spontaneous—undisciplined."

"That's why I've been trying to teach him a formal method of Divination," said Trelawney, who had been listening attentively to Firenze's analysis. "The problem is finding one that's compatible with his natural abilities."

"Yes," said Firenze, staring off into the distance again. If Hermione's research hadn't prepared Harry for how reticent centaurs could be, he would have thought Firenze was being deliberately unhelpful. But then, as they came out of the thick trees and onto a well-worn path, Firenze spoke again: "I believe the solution is one you must find on your own," he said slowly. "You must look _within_ before you can Look without."

They waited for Firenze to elaborate, but it seemed the centaur had no more to say.

While they walked, Harry tried to think of a question that might clarify things, but he didn't know where to start. How could he find the solution on his own? If it were that simple, he wouldn't have needed a centaur's help in the first place. With Firenze's cryptic advice still bouncing around his brain, he almost didn't notice when the others stopped walking. They'd reached a fork in the path.

"This is where I leave you," said Firenze. He pointed to the left branch of the path. "You'll be able to follow this trail out of the forest. The sooner you return to your school, the better. Remember what I said, Harry Potter, and good luck."

Then, before anyone could say another word, Firenze turned and trotted away, quickly disappearing into the shadows.

"He was strange, wasn't he?" said Hermione.

"That's for sure," said Harry. "It was hard to get an answer out of him about anything. I don't have a clue what he meant by any of that 'look within' stuff, do you?"

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "I thought it sounded kind of corny."

"I'm not sure it's what he meant, but he may have given me an idea," said Trelawney. She shook her head. "I'll have to think about it. For now, let's just get back to the school."

There was little conversation as they set off on the path Firenze had shown them. Harry knew that both Trelawney and Hermione were still mulling over everything the centaur had—and hadn't—told them. He wasn't about to say so in front of Trelawney, but privately he thought Firenze's advice wasn't worth the effort they'd put into finding him.

Not long after leaving centaur territory, they came to another fork in the path.

"This way, I think," said Trelawney, quickly casting her compass spell and leading them on the right branch.

This pattern was repeated at each fork they reached, so many times that Harry lost track: right, then left, then left again, then right…. They walked for miles but never seemed to get any closer to the forest's edge. Everything looked so similar that it was impossible to say if they were making any progress at all. Then, just as Harry was grumbling to Hermione about going in circles, they both walked straight into Professor Trelawney, who had come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the path.

"Professor?" said Harry, wondering if she had heard him complaining.

When Trelawney didn't respond, Harry and Hermione peeked around her to see what the problem was. They spotted it immediately: there was a bright, silver stain shining on the trail in front of them.

"Is that"—Hermione took a step closer—"unicorn blood?"

Harry looked at Professor Trelawney with concern and noticed for the first time that her wide eyes were frozen not on the blood, but on a crumpled body lying some fifty feet ahead of them. Then Hermione saw it, too.

"Oh, God," she whimpered.

"That's …"

"Go, just go," she said, pushing him in the opposite direction of the unicorn.

"Professor, let's go!" said Harry.

But Professor Trelawney still didn't move.

" _Professor!_ " yelled Harry, grabbing her by the arm.

Finally, Trelawney snapped out of her daze. She yelped and dropped her wand. Picking it back up, she urged them on with a shaking hand. "Go! We have to go! Run! Move it!"

Harry and Hermione were way ahead of her. They had no idea which way they were going, or if they might even be running deeper into the forest, but they were determined to get as far away from that dead unicorn and whatever had killed it as possible. Crashing through the underbrush with Trelawney at their heels, they ran until their lungs burned and their muscles cramped and then they ran some more.

It wasn't until they came to the crest of a hill far, far away from the unicorn carcass that the three of them collapsed under an ancient oak tree, unable to go a single step farther. They could only hope that their legs had carried them far enough, that they were safe, now.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Several minutes later, when he'd caught his breath and his heart had stopped pounding in his chest, Harry heard it:

 _Click_ , _click_ , _click_.

It was coming from somewhere down in the deep valley that lay before them.

"Do you hear that?"

"Shh!" said Hermione.

The ominous clicking was unlike anything Harry had ever heard. He felt a chill run down his spine. It was a sinister, unnatural sound.

 _Click_ , _click_ , _click_.

"What is it?"

"Look!" whispered Hermione, pointing down the hillside.

Harry stared into the thick forest and realized that whatever was down there was moving. All he could see was a dark shadow and the sway of the low branches and hanging vines it disturbed as it marched through the valley, but it was enough to know that the thing was massive.

 _Click_ , _click_ , _click_.

And it was coming this way!

"RUN!"

No one needed to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and fled back the way they came. Harry didn't dare look back to see if that thing—whatever it was—was chasing them. He just hoped they could outrun it if it was.

"Which way!" screamed Trelawney as they reached the bottom of the hill.

Harry wasn't sure, either. He looked at Hermione.

"Right!" she yelled.

So they went right.

They ran tirelessly, paying no mind to the scratches, scrapes, and bruises they accumulated as they fought through low branches and stumbled over rocks and caught their feet on exposed roots. Eventually, after running what felt like a marathon, they staggered into a clearing where the spring sun shined warmly overhead and assured them that no Darkness could reach them here.

Harry flopped onto the grass and heard Hermione and Professor Trelawney hit the ground on either side of him. It was a long time before anyone spoke.

"What—what was that?" Harry panted.

"I d-don't know," said Hermione.

She was shaking. With no small effort, Harry crawled across the ground to put his arm around her shoulders. As Hermione leaned against him, Harry felt an odd lump in his jacket—the Invisibility Cloak was still in his pocket. He had brought it along in case they ran into any trouble, but they'd panicked and forgotten to use it.

"Whatever it was, it shouldn't have been there," said Trelawney. "And that unicorn—I'd bet anything that _thing_ was the beast that slaughtered it!" She pulled her glasses off and cleaned them on one of her scarves. Without their magnifying effect, her eyes seemed very tiny as she blinked in the sunlight. "Oh, I don't know what I'm going to tell the Aurors," she muttered. "Dead unicorns on top of everything else … Bones will have a fit …"

"Shouldn't you tell Professor Dumbledore?" said Harry.

"The headmaster?" Professor Trelawney's eyes bulged under her newly sparkling lenses. "Do you know what it takes to kill a unicorn? What kind of evil? There's some Dark monster loose in the forest and you want me to go to a _schoolteacher?_ "

"He's not just a schoolteacher," said Hermione. "He's a very powerful wizard, too. And as headmaster, the forest is his responsibility."

Professor Trelawney looked unconvinced.

"You'll have to tell him, anyway," said Harry. "He's your boss and like Hermione said, it's his responsibility. He's supposed to keep the students safe, but he can't do that if he doesn't know about that … that thing."

"And how would I explain my presence in the forest?"

"You know, Madam Bones might ask the same thing," said Harry.

"Good point." Trelawney closed her eyes in thought. "Alright, then—we tell no one about this."

Harry felt Hermione tense up beside him. "If we don't tell anyone," she said, "what's to stop someone else from going in the forest? And don't say that it's forbidden, because that didn't stop us!"

Trelawney looked slightly ashamed of herself. Evidently that was exactly what she'd been going to say.

"Here's what we're going to do," said Hermione. "You're going to go tell Dumbledore you were in the forest. If he asks why, just say you wanted to consult with the centaurs, because … I don't know … Mars has been bright lately or something. Then, tell him that while you were there, you found a dead unicorn and also happened upon … well, whatever that clicking thing was. Dumbledore can tell Madam Bones, and they can figure out what to do about it so the students are safe and no more unicorns are killed."

Harry couldn't say whether Professor Trelawney had accepted the wisdom of Hermione's advice or was merely speechless after being ordered around by a first year, but in any case she didn't argue.

Hermione was not done giving orders, though. She rose to her feet and surveyed the clearing. "I don't think we're far from the edge of the forest," she said authoritatively. "And judging by the sun, Hogwarts should be straight ahead. We should get going before anyone realizes we're missing."

"Just give us a minute," said Harry, lying back on the grass.

Hermione prodded him with her foot.

"Or we'll go now," he said, clambering to his feet.

With a satisfied smirk, she slipped her hand into Harry's and led him out of the clearing, leaving Trelawney to bring up the rear.


	9. Monsters and Meditations

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and regarded the Divination teacher over his half-moon glasses. As much as her story sounded like the delusional ravings of a madwoman, he knew the horrors she described were all too real.

"Well, Sybill, I'm sure it's nothing," he said, "but I will tell Hagrid to keep an eye out for any injured unicorns."

He rose from his chair, but Trelawney remained seated in front of his desk.

"And the monster?" she said sharply.

Dumbledore laughed softly. "I'll warn Hagrid of that, as well—though I do believe he's more than a match for any creature that lives in the forest."

Despite those comforting words, Trelawney did not look satisfied.

"Now, I really do have to get back to my work," said Dumbledore. He tapped the tall stack of Ministry paperwork on his desk. "I'm sure you're quite busy yourself."

"Of course, Headmaster," said Trelawney, finally rising from her seat. "Good day."

She left his office in a whirl of scarves.

Dumbledore sank slowly into his chair and wished, not for the first time, that he had never hired that woman. While it had seemed sensible at the time, more than a decade of complaints from students, parents, and other teachers had proved she was more trouble than she was worth. And now she was meddling in things that didn't concern her. To think that after all his careful planning and his numerous attempts to involve Harry Potter, he had wound up with Sybill Trelawney instead!

There was something odd, though. He couldn't put his finger on it. What did Trelawney say she was doing in the forest—looking for centaurs? She'd never cared to meet them before, so what changed? Why now? There had to be something else going on, something she hadn't told him. He was sure of that much. And he had the strangest feeling that whatever she was hiding was more important than centaurs and unicorns. Perhaps he would have to look into her story, after all….

"Dumbledore."

Dumbledore peered over the mountain of paperwork on his desk to find Madam Bones's head in his fireplace. Here was another woman who insisted upon making a nuisance of herself.

"Amelia, what can I do for you?" he said with careful politeness.

As usual, Madam Bones wasted no time with small talk. "What's this I've heard about a dragon at Hogwarts?" she said.

Dumbledore silently thanked Merlin that Charlie Weasley's friends had come the night before to take Hagrid's latest pet away, though it was a shame he'd had to call them himself. Ideally, Hagrid would have reached out to his young friends for assistance instead (and in doing so, told Harry all about the cloaked stranger who had given him the dragon egg), but after the gamekeeper had hatched it on his own, Dumbledore had been required to step in.

"There are no dragons at Hogwarts," he said firmly. "I can assure you of that."

"Really?" boomed Madam Bones. "Then Hagrid _didn't_ win a Norwegian Ridgeback egg in a card game at the Hog's Head and bring it back to the school?"

His expression remained as serene as ever, but Dumbledore was both annoyed and impressed by how remarkably well-informed Madam Bones seemed to be. If only she would focus on something important, rather than nosing around his school.

"Hagrid did take custody of an egg," he admitted, "but he did so with the goal of sending it to a reserve in Romania—a commendable goal which has now been achieved. The dragon was gone the moment it hatched."

"Dragon trading is illegal, Dumbledore!" snapped Madam Bones. "And to bring it to a school—"

"As I've said, Hagrid only obtained the egg so it could be placed at a reputable reserve. It never posed a threat to anyone at the school, and frankly"—he let a hint of anger enter his voice—"I'm offended that you would suggest otherwise when you know so little of the facts." He fixed her with a cold, penetrating stare. "You should know better than to believe such ridiculous rumors, Amelia."

"Rumors! I have a roomful of witnesses—including your brother—who can confirm Hagrid won the egg in a card game—"

"Which he did on my orders," interrupted Dumbledore. "Hagrid has my full confidence."

"And as for _offending_ you—considering there has already been a troll at Hogwarts this year, not to mention a locked corridor that students have been told is _deadly_ —"

"Enough," said Dumbledore. "If you insist on repeating rumors and making scurrilous insinuations, than we have nothing more to discuss."

Madam Bones scowled at him from the fireplace. "I'm coming to Hogwarts Monday," she said. "I have more questions and you had better have some answers, Dumbledore." Then she disappeared from the flames with a small _pop_.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, taking a well-deserved break before he returned to his paperwork. He knew she had the best of intentions, but Madam Bones was becoming extraordinarily bothersome. She failed to understand what was at stake. It was much more than trolls and dragons—for Dumbledore was certain he knew who was behind both of those events, and the slaughtered unicorns, as well—and if Madam Bones continued with her misguided investigations, she could spoil the perfect trap he had laid….

Well, almost perfect, Dumbledore corrected himself. Although Tom had taken the bait immediately, Harry still resisted every effort to bring him on board. It was getting to be a major problem. To Dumbledore's knowledge, the boy wasn't even aware that the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts, so how could he know that someone was trying to steal it or that it was his job to stop them? And how could he ever become the hero he needed to be—that he was foretold to be—if he never faced the Dark Lord?

Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

There had to be a way to bring Harry into his plan, to gently mold the boy into the great wizard he was destined to be. His previous attempts had failed because Harry had defied his expectations. The boy wasn't nearly as adventurous as he'd presumed James Potter's son would be…. So perhaps he needed to take a closer look at Harry, to get to know him better—only then would Dumbledore know how best to guide him.

~o~

One week after their trip into the forest, Harry and Hermione headed to the North Tower for Harry's next Divination lesson.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," Harry said as they passed Sir Cadogan, who was riding his squat pony through a painting of women in hoop skirts. The knight gave Harry a sly wink when he saw Hermione.

"I know, but I feel bad about telling her off," said Hermione. "And I want to see what your lessons are like. A real one, I mean, not like last time."

"But you saw me feeding the chickens."

"From a distance. And I didn't exactly know what was going on," she said. "Wait—was _that_ a typical lesson?"

"Er, no, I guess not. Usually we stay in the tower and try one or two types of Divination and—" Harry stopped walking. He listened for a moment then turned around, but the stairs behind them were empty.

"Harry?"

"Sorry," he said, squeezing Hermione's hand. "I thought I heard someone."

"Probably a portrait or a suit of armor," she said.

"Maybe. Sometimes that knight, Sir Cadogan, follows me the whole way up here. You'd know if it was him, though, since he never shuts up, usually."

Hermione craned her neck to peer out of a high window, looking down on the sunny grounds. "Is it much farther to the top?" she asked.

"We're nearly there," said Harry, still trying to shake off the feeling that they were being watched. "Just wait—I want to see if you can figure out how to get to her classroom."

"I'm sure I can," said Hermione confidently.

And to Harry's astonishment, she was right. She spotted the trapdoor in the ceiling almost the instant they reached the tiny landing below Trelawney's classroom and knew just what to do.

"Open, please," she said in a loud, clear voice.

The door swung open and the silver ladder descended.

"How'd you know how to do that?" said Harry, remembering how long he'd stood under the trapdoor his first time before it had opened of its own accord.

"I read it in _Hogwarts, a History_ , of course."

"Of course," grumbled Harry as he followed her up the ladder and into the cluttered Divination classroom.

Professor Trelawney was not there.

"She must be upstairs," said Harry.

While Hermione headed for a bookshelf at the back of the room, he walked over to the teacher's desk, where a second trapdoor in the ceiling led to Trelawney's study.

"Professor?" he called.

He heard the scrape of a chair being pushed out and footsteps moving across the ceiling. Then the trapdoor opened and a gold ladder slid down with Trelawney riding on its bottom rung.

"Harry, how are you? We have a lot to cover this—" Trelawney stopped mid-sentence as she saw that they were not alone.

"Professor Trelawney," said Hermione, stepping forward, "I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you last week. It was disrespectful and I'm sorry."

Trelawney was dumbfounded for a moment, but quickly recovered. Ushering them over to one of the tables at the front of the room, she waved her wand and summoned a tea set. Harry plopped right down in his favorite chair, but Hermione hesitated.

"I don't want to intrude …" she began.

"Nonsense." Trelawney patted the seat next to her. "Sit down, my dear. You're welcome to stay. And you had nothing to apologize for, by the way," she said, pouring them each a cup of herbal tea. "Honestly, I should thank you for bringing me to my senses. After your little speech I realized I had to do what was right or I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that _thing_ ever attacked a student, so the next morning I spoke with the headmaster."

" _You did?_ " said Harry. "What'd he say?"

"Unfortunately, he didn't take me very seriously. When he dismissed me, I admit I considered giving up, simply washing my hands of the whole affair, but then I thought again about what you said, Hermione. Someone had to protect the students, and if the headmaster wasn't going to do it then I had to tell someone who would! So that afternoon I went to Madam Bones myself."

Hermione looked at Professor Trelawney with newfound respect. "Really?"

"Yes, and I'm happy to say that _she_ took me seriously. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already sent a team of Aurors to search the forest."

"Speaking of the forest," said Harry, setting his teacup down on its saucer, "have you figured out Firenze's riddle or whatever it was?"

"Oh yes, I have exciting news on that score, too!" said Trelawney.

Harry and Hermione inched forward in their seats.

"Well, go on!" urged Harry.

Trelawney took a long drink of her tea, obviously enjoying keeping them in suspense.

"Okay," she said, "you remember when I told you I wasn't sure it was what Firenze meant, but he may have given me an idea? After thinking about it, I'm quite sure it's not what he meant, but I still think it could be a good idea."

"What's your idea?"

"'Look within,'" said Trelawney. "Meditation. For most Seers, meditation is only used as training or preparation, simply to clear their minds of mundane trivialities before they attempt to See. That's why I had you do those exercises. But what if meditation was _all_ you needed? Given the unusually narrow and personal nature of your visions, things like tarot cards or crystal balls might just be distractions from what you should be thinking about," she concluded with a meaningful look at Hermione.

"Hang on," said Harry. "I've been meditating every week. It's never given me any visions before."

"But you've been meditating to _clear_ your mind," said Trelawney. "You should have been meditating to _focus_ your mind on your Object."

"On me?" said Hermione.

"Or your relationship," said Trelawney. "If this works the way I think it will, he'll probably be able to branch out and meditate on other things eventually."

"So I just do my meditation exercises," said Harry, "only instead of clearing my mind of everything—"

"You clear it of everything but Hermione," finished Trelawney.

"Can it really be as simple as that?" said Hermione. "Surely you think about me all the time without having any visions, don't you Harry?"

"Ah—but there is a world of difference between ordinary thought and meditation," said Trelawney. "Meditation can be a very mystical experience. Harry will reach a state of consciousness that _transcends_ thought and that's what will allow him to See." She smiled at Hermione's rapt expression. "I have some books on the subject, if you're interested?"

"Yes, please," said Hermione.

"Let me prepare the room for Harry, then I'll show them to you," said Trelawney as she started dimming the lamps, shutting the curtains, and burning incense to help Harry relax.

After drinking the last of his tea, which Trelawney informed him contained a calming blend of chamomile and lemon balm, Harry was ready to begin. Trelawney and Hermione moved off to the far side of the room so as not to disturb him. Once they had settled, Trelawney cast a Silencing Charm and Harry couldn't hear a word they were saying.

Closing his eyes, Harry focused first on his breathing, taking slow, regular breaths. He could feel his heartbeat begin to lull as his mind emptied. One by one, every distraction faded away—the dead unicorn, the monster in the forest, his Potions homework, his itchy nose—until Hermione was all that was left. Ordinarily, thoughts of Hermione were the most difficult to clear from his mind, but now that they could stay he fell into a trance more quickly than ever before. He soon lost all sense of his surroundings, becoming oblivious even to the passage of time….

There was only Hermione. The sight of her face, the sound of her voice, the scent of her hair—it nearly overwhelmed him. He felt a strange, irresistible urge to open his eyes. And as he gazed at her across the room, with his glasses removed and his vision blurry, Harry felt a very familiar tickle in his belly—and then, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he felt another.

A rush of images came faster than he could process them:

 _He was with Hermione. They were at Hogwarts by the lake. They were in her parents' kitchen. They were at a restaurant, a bookstore, a cinema, a cottage by the sea._

It was like flipping through the pages of a photo album. Each picture held one brief scene of his life, but none lasted long enough for him to understand what was happening. The only constant was Hermione. She was always by his side.

 _They were lying in a hammock in her parents' garden. They were walking home through the park. They were at a New Year's Eve party, surrounded by friends and family. They were talking to a man Harry had never met, but who seemed vaguely familiar. He had long black hair and was wearing the ugliest sweater Harry had ever seen. He handed Harry a glass of whiskey and a weary-looking man with streaks of gray in his hair came and took it away._

Harry had many questions—who were those men? why did it feel like he knew them?—but the scene changed again before any answers were revealed.

 _They were in London. They were in Dover. They were visiting a house in the country. A young woman with spiky pink hair was chasing a big black dog down the road. They were celebrating a birthday. They were singing, they were dancing, they were laughing and drinking._

Then, as abruptly as they had started, these images were replaced by the blurry Divination classroom. The clock at the back of the room chimed two o'clock: the lesson was over.

As they tidied up and got ready to leave, Harry told Hermione and Professor Trelawney what had happened.

"You mean it … it actually _worked?_ " said Trelawney in disbelief. She needed to sit down. "I … I _trained a Seer_ …." She looked at Harry. "Not that we're done," she said briskly. "Not by a long shot. Now you need to learn to control it and that'll take practice: years and years of practice."

"I feel like I'm on the right track, though," Harry told Hermione as they descended the spiral staircase a few minutes later.

"That's wonderful!" Hermione beamed. "Harry, I'm so proud of you! You have to tell me what it's like—could you teach me to meditate?"

"Yeah, absolutely," said Harry. He doubted Hermione would need much tuition, but he would always be there to lend a hand if she did.

They discussed Harry's experience all the way to the bottom of the stairs, but as they exited the tower their conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Sir Cadogan, who came clanking into the nearest painting. The knight was clearly agitated and sweating profusely.

"Ah—there you are, young squire!" he shouted, mopping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "I have a warning to give!"

Harry pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, preparing himself for one of the knight's peculiar flights of fancy. As much as he hated to ask, he knew from experience that Sir Cadogan wouldn't leave them alone until he did.

"What warning?"

"We must secure my lady's tower! You must go back and tell her: I saw a demon in this very corridor little more than an hour ago!"

"Your lady?" chortled Harry. He thought it might be worth climbing all the way up to the top of the tower just to tease Trelawney about that.

"What sort of demon?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know, it could have been any kind," said Sir Cadogan. "I couldn't see the blasted thing!"

"Then how do you—"

"Because I could hear it!—and because it gave my steed an awful fright!"

"Is that what has you so up in arms?" said Harry, noticing the grass stains on Sir Cadogan's armor. "A ghost scared your horse?"

"It was no ghost, you scurvy braggart! 'Twas a demon if ever I saw one!"

"But you _didn't_ see one," Hermione reminded him.

The little knight drew himself up to his full height, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I will not stand for such effrontery, madam! I would challenge you to a duel, if you were you not a lady."

"And if you were not a painting," Hermione shot back.

His jaw clenched, Sir Cadogan turned to address Harry. "Sir, control thy wench!" he snarled.

In the blink of an eye, Hermione's wand was in her hand, pointed directly at the painted knight's head. Sir Cadogan responded in kind, clapping his visor shut and brandishing his sword.

"A duel it is, then!"

Before things could escalate any further, Harry grabbed hold of Hermione and started pulling her down the corridor. As entertaining as it would have been to watch her set fire to Sir Cadogan, he didn't fancy explaining the charred canvas to Filch when the caretaker inevitably caught them.

Only when they were several floors away and Harry was sure the hot-tempered knight was not pursuing them did he consider the substance of Sir Cadogan's warning. Maybe he hadn't imagined it earlier. Maybe there really was someone lurking around the North Tower. But who, and why? And why were they invisible, if Sir Cadogan was to be believed …

But it was at that point that Harry remembered that Sir Cadogan _wasn't_ to be believed. If the errant knight was the only other witness to this supposed demon, then Harry probably had imagined the whole thing. Either way, he thought as they passed a window overlooking the lake, one thing was certain: it was far too beautiful a day to waste it fretting over phantom footsteps.

"The beech tree?" he said, knowing Hermione would know the very one he meant. They had spent most of the previous afternoon lounging against it, enjoying the cool spring breeze blowing off the water.

"The beech tree," Hermione agreed.

~o~

As the sunny weather persisted through the following week, Harry and Hermione were not the only ones afflicted with a mild case of spring fever. Many of the older students didn't have a mind for anything except the next Hogsmeade weekend and even the teachers (with the obvious exception of Professor Snape) were not immune to the condition. In his whimsy, Professor Flitwick went so far as to move his classes outdoors, where he spent as much time admiring the yellow daffodils that bloomed all around the castle as he did teaching.

There was one person at Hogwarts, however, whose restlessness had nothing to do with the pleasant weather. It had been two weeks since Professor Quirrell had traded a dragon egg for the secret to subduing Hagrid's beast and he still had not been able to use that information. Every day he waited, watching closely for an opportunity that never came.

By Friday, he could wait no longer. As soon as classes let out, he made his way to the owlery. The nondescript brown owl he enlisted would be indistinguishable from the Ministry owls that Dumbledore received almost daily. The Ministry investigation into his troll could have been disastrous, but instead it had provided a useful distraction on more than one occasion. Now it would prove useful once again, as Dumbledore wouldn't even question why he was being summoned to the Ministry on a Friday evening. And by the time the old fool returned, Quirrell would be long gone and his master would be resurrected.

~o~

Harry, Hermione, and Neville were walking down to breakfast on Saturday when it happened. As they reached the marble staircase, they heard a loud thud and then a crash of shattering glass.

"What d'you reckon that was?" said Harry, prodding Neville to move so he could see down into the entrance hall.

There were hundreds of bright blue sapphires clattering onto the flagstone floor. Someone screamed as a piece of armor flew across the hall, striking the giant hourglass which recorded Gryffindor's House points. Scores of red rubies—many of them earned by Hermione, if Harry was not mistaken—spilled across the floor. More screams followed. A group of Hufflepuffs who had been loitering in the hall scrambled for the exits as a huge wooden club came swinging into view.

"Oh my God," whispered Hermione, covering her face.

Harry smelled it before he could see it—a horrible stench like sweat and manure. Then the troll stomped into the center of the hall, grunting to itself as it trod on rubies and sapphires. Standing twelve feet tall with lumpy gray skin, it looked to Harry like a grotesque stone sculpture come to life. He tightened his grip on Hermione's hand, ready to run with her to safety.

The troll lumbered toward the Hufflepuffs. With another swing of its club, it had them diving for cover. Those closest to the Great Hall escaped through its double doors, but the others were left huddled against the wall, cowering with their arms over their heads. Then, just as the troll was closing in on them, a distraction came in the form of a fat gray rat, which had fallen from someone's pocket.

"Scabbers!"

The frightened rat squealed for its owner, but the boy couldn't reach it. It would have to make a run for it.

As Scabbers scurried this way and that across the floor, searching for a place to hide, the troll seemed to forget all about the students. Its beady eyes tracked the rat with keen interest until suddenly it lurched forward and brought its heavy club down directly on Scabbers's head.

 _Crunch_.

Grunting in amusement, the troll lifted its club and scraped off the rat's flattened body. Then, without another glance at the terror-stricken students behind it, the beast continued on its way, knocking the great oak front doors off their hinges as it left the castle.

Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Snape arrived on the scene seconds later. While McGonagall and Sprout checked to make sure none of the Hufflepuffs were injured, Snape followed the troll through the broken front doors and down into the grounds. He wouldn't catch it, though. Through the windows, Harry had watched the beast's flight into the forest. He'd never imagined such an ungainly creature could run so fast—and in broad daylight, no less—but thankfully the troll seemed as eager to leave the castle as the rest of them were to see it go.

~o~

Deep within the Forbidden Forest, Lord Voldemort howled with rage. He beat his fists—the troll's fists—on the trunks of trees. He punched and he kicked. He snapped one spindly pine with his bare hands. He felt his own fury mingling with that of the troll as he vented months of pent-up frustration. When he had finished, more than one tree lay broken upon the forest floor.

Now it was time to go on—alone. The troll's usefulness was at an end. Despite the advantage of its brute strength, it would be a liability to him: too hardheaded to control easily and too big to escape stealthily. His sole purpose in possessing the beast after Quirrell's untimely demise had been to wreak a bit of havoc on Dumbledore's castle as he left it. Now that that purpose had been fulfilled, he would find a more suitable vessel for the next leg of his journey. He wouldn't have to look very far. After his last two hosts, the mind of an adder would seem like paradise.

All those years waiting for a wizard to find him and it had to be Quirrell….

As Voldemort extricated himself from the troll, it gave a dull roar of pain. Then it fell silent, for the very instant his magic left it, the troll's flesh began to harden. Without his protection, the few rays of sunlight shining down through the trees were more than enough to turn it to stone.

He had little time to admire the resulting statue. The trail of destruction that he and the troll had left in their wake would bring Dumbledore and the Ministry to Hogwarts within the hour. And with Quirrell's body lying in front of that infernal mirror, it wouldn't take long for Dumbledore to realize what had happened and come after him. He had no choice but to flee—for the time being, anyway. This was a setback, but a temporary one. All he required was one faithful servant and there were any number of rituals that might restore his body.

He only hoped that the next wizard to come seeking Lord Voldemort would be more capable than Quirinus Quirrell.


	10. The Truth Comes Out

Albus Dumbledore stood in the deserted entrance hall and surveyed the damage the troll had done. There were rubies and sapphires scattered across the floor, bits of parchment and broken ink bottles where the students had been standing, and even a dead rat lying in the middle of the hall.

"The Weasley brat's," said Professor Snape, swooping out of the shadows as Dumbledore examined the rat. "I've preserved everything as the Dark Lord left it."

"Thank you, Severus, but you may return Mr. Weasley's pet. I will handle the rest."

The Potions master bowed his head. "Yes, Headmaster."

While Snape levitated the rat out of the hall, Dumbledore looked again at the debris covering the stone floor. He'd never felt so old or so tired. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

When he had arrived at the Ministry the night before and discovered that Fudge hadn't summoned him, he'd known instantly what was going on: Tom had decided to make his move. And as he knew it would take hours for Tom to reach the Mirror chamber, Dumbledore had decided to remain in London until he was needed. He'd taken a room at the Leaky Cauldron and spent the night waiting—hoping against hope that Harry would find his way to the forbidden corridor after all. But that was not to be. The message from his deputy didn't come until morning, and it brought no such good news.

It seemed that everything had gone wrong— _again_.

With two waves of his wand, Dumbledore sent the sapphires and rubies flying back into their respective hourglasses, which also repaired themselves. Then he set off down the corridor, fixing broken lamps, righting toppled suits of armor, mending torn tapestries, and doing his best to calm several traumatized portraits. The trail meandered through the castle's back corridors and secret passageways, but it eventually led him exactly where he'd expected it to: the formerly locked door on the right-hand side of the third floor.

The door was ajar, the latch broken. Luckily, Hagrid's pet Fluffy was still inside and unconscious. When his eyes had adjusted to the unlit corridor, Dumbledore saw that the giant, three-headed dog was injured. The troll must have fought its way out. Dumbledore sealed the door behind him and strolled over to the open trapdoor at Fluffy's feet, where a conjured steel ladder stood. Evidently Quirinus had not felt pressed for time and preferred the safety of a slow descent. Dumbledore, on the other hand, knew precisely what lay at the bottom and had much else to do today, so he vanished the ladder and took the plunge, landing neatly in Professor Sprout's Devil's Snare. The enormous plant barely twitched as he stepped out of its limp tendrils. The floor was covered with leaves and broken branches from its own battle with the troll.

In the next chamber, he found the opposite door lying broken upon the floor. So much for Filius's locking charm. Walking through the doorway, he came to the shattered pieces of Professor McGonagall's life-sized stone chess set. The troll's chamber was next, but it was empty, of course. Then came Professor Snape's puzzle, which was completely intact. After taking a sip from the smallest potion bottle, Dumbledore stepped through the flame barrier to the final chamber.

He saw Professor Quirrell's turban first. It had come unraveled and stretched across the floor like a long purple tongue. His eyes moved slowly along the length of the cloth until they reached the end, where several bulbs of garlic lay beside Quirrell's lifeless body. Dumbledore took one look at the dry, chalky flesh that had crumbled off the back of the man's head and quickly cast a spell to cover that abomination with the turban again.

Quirinus had never had a chance, really. His death had been assured from the moment he'd allowed Tom to share his body. In his weakened state, the strain of trying to overpower the Mirror may have been enough to kill him. And if that hadn't done it, his punishment for failing to procure the Stone surely would have. His master had never handled defeat gracefully.

This was it, then: the culmination of months of planning. The Dark Lord had fallen for his trap and been driven away— _but not by Harry Potter_. That part of his plan had failed entirely and it was time to find out why.

~o~

Harry didn't think he'd be able to focus on his meditation after the morning's excitement, but Hermione was adamant—and naturally Professor Trelawney agreed—that a troll attack was no excuse to skive off, so they were carrying on with their lesson as if nothing had happened. As Professor Trelawney bustled about, dimming the lights and casting muffling charms around the already quiet classroom, Hermione opened her spiral-bound notebook and clicked her mechanical pencil.

"Hermione, you really don't have to take notes," said Harry. "Especially today, when I won't See a thing."

"You don't know that," she replied, wagging her pencil at him. "You said yourself that the other times you Saw something it happened when you least— _AARGH!_ "

Hermione screamed and leapt from her seat as a golden flame erupted over the center of their table. Harry reacted instinctively, drawing his wand and taking aim at the unknown threat.

"Wait!" said Hermione.

No sooner had she yelled than a large crimson bird emerged from the flames. Harry watched in amazement as the phoenix deposited Professor Dumbledore on the tabletop, then flew off to perch on a hatstand near the fireplace.

With an irritated huff at the preening phoenix, Dumbledore climbed down from the table and stood in front of Harry.

"Harry, this has gone on long enough," he said without preamble. "I don't know what you're up to, but it ends now."

Harry was too shocked by the headmaster's unorthodox entrance to respond—not that he had any idea what Dumbledore was talking about, anyway.

"Why didn't you stop him?" demanded Dumbledore. His blue eyes shined with an unnerving intensity. "That troll could have killed someone!"

It was Hermione, of course, who first regained her wits. Though Harry was still gaping at Dumbledore and Professor Trelawney had not blinked since Fawkes appeared, Hermione was ready to defend her boyfriend.

"What's Harry have to do with that troll?" she cried.

"Everything," snapped Dumbledore. "Harry has _everything_ to do with the troll." He began pacing the room impatiently. "Why else do you think I went to all this trouble? Because Harry was supposed to stop him! He _has to_ because of the …" He froze, stock-still, then smacked his forehead. "Of course," he murmured. "Of course," he said again, staring around the Divination classroom as though only now realizing where he was. "Divination. You've been studying _Divination_ …"

Dumbledore clasped his hands triumphantly and laughed like a man who had spent hours searching for his wand only to find it was in his pocket the whole time.

"I saw you at it last week," he said. "I followed you here, but I never thought—it seemed impossible—but now I know! You've been one step ahead of me all along, haven't you, Harry? But _how_ …"

Dumbledore looked at Harry for a long moment, then his brow furrowed. He resumed his pacing.

"Professor—sir," said Harry, wishing Dumbledore would stop and listen, "what are you talking about?"

"The prophecy!" said Dumbledore. "Don't deny it now! You've discovered the prophecy, haven't you? Only you couldn't have known the whole thing," he added, more to himself than to Harry. "No, _that's_ why you've been coming here, to the source, to try to learn the rest of it …"

Harry looked at Hermione, expecting her to be as confused—and frankly, alarmed—as he was by the headmaster's ramblings, but she was looking at Professor Trelawney.

"The source?" she said.

Dumbledore, who seemed lost in thought, barely acknowledged her. "The Seer," he muttered, still pacing back and forth in front of the classroom.

Now Harry was staring at Trelawney, too, but she was looking around for someone else.

"Professor Trelawney made a prophecy?" asked Hermione.

Dumbledore ignored her.

"And the prophecy was about Harry?" she said, biting her lip.

Again, Dumbledore said nothing.

" _Prophecy?_ " a woman's voice rang out. "What prophecy?"

Harry jumped and spun around.

While everyone had been focused on Dumbledore and Trelawney, Madam Bones had entered the room behind them. She was still on the silver ladder with only her head poking through the trapdoor, but she soon climbed the rest of the way up.

"What prophecy?" she repeated, her monocled eye darting between them as she strode across the room. When no one answered her question, she tried another: "Will someone tell me what's going on here?"

Hermione stepped forward to explain what little she had pieced together, but Dumbledore beat her to it.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," he said, straightening up so that he towered over Madam Bones. "But tell me, Amelia, what are _you_ doing here?"

A muscle twitched in Madam Bones's jaw. "Looking for you," she said coldly. "The portraits in your office told me you were up here."

"And who, pray tell, let you into my office?"

"The gargoyle outside—once I'd shown him my warrant," said Madam Bones, producing a roll of official-looking parchment from her pocket.

Dumbledore blinked at the scroll. "Warrant?"

But Madam Bones turned away from him, looking instead at Hermione. "You were saying something about a prophecy?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "Professor Dumbledore said that Professor Trelawney made one."

"Oh?" Madam Bones raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore. "I guess that explains why you've kept her on all these years."

"I hardly think this is an appropriate topic," said Dumbledore tartly. "But if you have other business to discuss with me, perhaps we should return to my office, where we might speak in private."

Madam Bones paid no attention to the headmaster's rebuke or his attempt to change the subject.

"You said this prophecy was about Harry Potter?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so," said Hermione.

"You think so? What did it say?"

Hermione shrugged and looked at Professor Trelawney.

"Well?" said Madam Bones.

"Don't ask me!" said Trelawney, her eyes popping. "This is the first I've heard of any prophecy."

"Amelia, surely there are more pressing matters—" Dumbledore tried again to redirect the conversation, only to be shushed by Madam Bones.

"You must have made it years ago or he never would have hired you," she said, adjusting her monocle as she looked at Trelawney. "When were you hired? It's been about ten years, hasn't it?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Amelia—"

"I was hired in 1980," said Trelawney.

"One year before—before the war ended …" said Madam Bones with a sidelong glance at Harry.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Hermione. It took Harry a second longer to grasp the implication, but then a chill ran down his spine. Could Trelawney have foretold the worst night of his life?

Madam Bones rounded on Dumbledore, her clenched fist crinkling the parchment that had brought her to Hogwarts in the first place. "What exactly did that prophecy say?"

"That," said Dumbledore in a lofty voice, "is between Harry and myself."

"Yet you haven't told him," retorted Madam Bones.

Dumbledore's ears went pink and he smoothed his beard uncomfortably.

"No, I haven't. And perhaps that was an error on my part." He turned to Harry. "I _was_ planning to tell you, Harry, but not until you were older. You see, I didn't want to burden you unnecessarily—not until you were strong enough to bear such burdens. If I had known you'd already learned of its existence …"

"But I hadn't learned of it," said Harry. "I tried to tell you before—I don't have a clue what you're talking about. I don't know anything about this prophecy!"

For once, Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words. He stared at Harry, his mouth agape. Then he started pacing again.

"That's not entirely true, Harry," said Hermione slowly. "We can guess some of the prophecy."

"You mean that it had something to do with Voldemort?"

Trelawney let out a frightened yelp at the sound of Voldemort's name.

"More than that," said Hermione.

"Oh? What more?" said Madam Bones.

"First of all, I don't think it was a coincidence that Voldemort attacked Harry after this prophecy was made."

"You think he knew about it?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Whatever the prophecy said, Voldemort must have believed it meant you were a threat to him."

"Solid reasoning, Miss—? I'm sorry I never got your name," said Madam Bones, offering her hand.

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, you seem to have a mind for detective work. What else have you deduced?"

Hermione glowed with pride at the compliment from a woman whom Harry knew she greatly admired. Indeed, there were times when he thought she might take to wearing a monocle herself in imitation of the no-nonsense Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"I also think Voldemort was right to fear Harry," said Hermione.

"Hermione—"

"I know, Harry, but when you consider what happened, what other conclusion can you draw? Voldemort died that night. If the prophecy named you as the one to defeat him then it was right."

"So the prophecy's already been fulfilled," said Madam Bones. "I can see why you didn't want to tell him," she added to Dumbledore, who had been ignoring them all as he tried to work out some riddle of his own. "It's grim business—very grim—but if there was a prophecy involved it at least explains how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could have been killed that night."

At this pronouncement, Dumbledore abruptly stopped his worried pacing and turned on his heel to face them.

"Voldemort is _not_ dead," he said forcefully.

"Not this again," said Madam Bones testily. "If he's alive, then where is he? What has he been doing all these years? And how do _you_ know? What evidence do you have?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, but then his blue eyes widened as he seemed to think better of whatever he'd intended to say.

"It doesn't matter where he is, or what he's been doing," he said instead. "It's enough to say that he is alive and remains a threat. One day he will return. He will call his old followers back to him and begin a new reign of terror! And when that happens"—Madam Bones sniffed—"when that happens," Dumbledore repeated more loudly, "it will be Harry who must stop him. Harry will be the _only one who can_ stop him, according to the prophecy!" He hesitated, looked around at the skeptical expressions on all their faces, Harry's included, then went on: "For 'either must die at the hand of the other.'"

"And so he has," said Madam Bones. "It's over and done with. And I think Harry has been through enough without you scaring him with stories about a Dark Lord rising from the dead to come after him again!"

As Madam Bones spoke, Hermione punctuated every word with a sharp nod of agreement. Seeing that neither Madam Bones nor Hermione was at all receptive to his theories, Dumbledore appealed directly to Harry.

"What do you say, Harry?" he asked, a little desperately. "I know it's unpleasant to hear—that's why I wanted to wait to tell you—to protect you from it—but it is the truth, regardless of how much we might wish it were otherwise. I only want to help you, to prepare you so you can one day fulfill this duty that has been thrust upon you."

Harry felt Hermione tense up beside him and knew she wanted to argue that last point. Madam Bones looked like she had a few choice words for Dumbledore as well, and fussed with the roll of parchment in her hand as she waited for Harry's reply. Professor Trelawney, meanwhile, appeared to still be in shock from the news that she was a real Seer all along. Harry couldn't believe that the woman who had become his mentor had made the prophecy that had sent Voldemort after him, that had resulted in his parents' murders. He didn't blame Trelawney in the slightest—he knew from experience that Seers can't choose what they See—but when all this was over and he had some time to himself, he had some serious brooding to do, as Hermione might call it.

"I agree with Hermione," he said at last. "And with Madam Bones. It sounds like the prophecy's been fulfilled and Voldemort's dead."

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped.

"How I wish that were true, Harry," he said heavily, "but unfortunately the prophecy has _not_ been fulfilled. Alas, what happened on that terrible night ten years ago was merely the beginning. The prophecy is quite clear on this point: the final confrontation between Voldemort and yourself is yet to come. I've studied the prophecy for more than a decade, searching for some alternative, another interpretation that would relieve you of this burden—there is no other. Voldemort survives and you must one day face him again. That is why it's imperative that you understand, that you trust me. I wish I knew how to make you see!"

"It might help if you told us the full prophecy," said Hermione bluntly.

"Hear, hear," boomed Madam Bones. "Harry, of all people, has a right to know. And I would say Professor Trelawney does as well."

"I'm not sure that would be wise …" said Dumbledore with an anxious glance at Trelawney. He stroked his beard. "But then again," he said, looking at Harry, "perhaps it is the only way to convince you of what must be done."

Dumbledore raised his wand and with one sweeping gesture closed and locked every window and door. He then cast several more spells in quick succession, each in a language Harry didn't recognize. When he was through, an oppressive and unnatural silence filled the room.

"I trust you understand the need for privacy," said Dumbledore. "Or you will soon enough."

With a long, bony finger, he called them closer. Then, when they had all gathered near, he recited the prophecy in a hushed voice:

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…._ "

When he'd finished, there was a heavy silence. Harry felt he somehow understood less after hearing the prophecy than he had before.

" _That's_ the prophecy?!" Professor Trelawney's shrill yell broke the quiet. "Good God, what drivel!" She stormed over to her desk and started rummaging through its drawers, talking to herself as she did: "All these years, I thought I was a fraud—now I find out I made a prophecy—a real prophecy!—and not only did it get two innocent people killed—as if that weren't bad enough!—" She pulled a bottle of sherry from the desk and kicked the drawer shut. "No, now I find out it was a bunch of cryptic nonsense to begin with!"

" _Sybill_ ," gasped Dumbledore, quite taken aback by her outburst.

"Really, Dumbledore, she's not wrong," said Madam Bones as Trelawney took a long drink straight from the bottle. "I'd say that was about as clear as mud!"

"The prophecy's meaning may not be obvious, but it is real," insisted Dumbledore. "It is already set in motion: Voldemort marked Harry." He indicated Harry's scar. "And he will not rest until he has either killed Harry"—Hermione growled—"or been killed by Harry," he hastened to add.

"If that prophecy is real, it just proves that Voldemort's dead," said Hermione sharply. "'Neither can live while the other survives'—Harry is living, isn't he?" She reached out and poked Harry as if to prove he was not a ghost. "So Voldemort can't have survived, according to the prophecy."

"Ah—" said Dumbledore, raising his finger. "I believe you are misinterpreting that line, Miss Granger. It is not enough simply to be alive. It refers to Harry living freely—free to choose his own path in life without this threat hanging over him—free to live a normal life, to live happily."

"Harry is happy," said Hermione at once. "Aren't you Harry?"

Now Harry was all out of sorts. He didn't know what to believe. When Dumbledore had made the distinction between living and living freely and happily, it had brought back painful memories of his life in the cupboard under the stairs. Was that what the prophecy meant? Did his life with the Dursleys prove that Voldemort had survived?

"Harry?"

Then he looked at Hermione and, as their eyes met, all doubt vanished from his mind. The Dursleys were his past. Hermione was his future. And hadn't he Seen what a wonderful future it could be?

"Yes," he said, taking her hands in his own. "I'm very happy."

"Awww," hiccuped Trelawney, swaying slightly. She clutched her half-empty bottle and watched with misty eyes as the young couple embraced. Dabbing her eyes with her shawl, she took another gulp of sherry and offered the bottle to Dumbledore, who looked like he could use it.

"Anyway, now that that's settled—" Madam Bones turned away from the children, unfurling her warrant as she did.

"I suppose you wish to speak with Quirinus," said Dumbledore dully.

Madam Bones's lip curled. "Wrong again," she said, holding up the warrant for him to see. "Albus Dumbledore, you are hereby under arrest."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows shot up as he took a bewildered step back. "On what charge?"

"Reckless endangerment of your students," said Madam Bones, "though I'll probably have more to add once I've visited the third floor."

"Surely there's been some misunderstanding, Amelia. As I've told you before, a troll getting into the castle is hardly—"

"You kept it in the castle!" Madam Bones shouted over him. "And a killer dog and other traps and the bloody Philosopher's Stone! Yes, I know all about it," she went on as Dumbledore blanched. "No less than three of your professors called me this morning after _your_ troll nearly killed half a dozen students. It seems they've had reservations about this stupid bloody plan of yours for some time and they finally decided to do the right thing."

From his perch by the fireplace, Fawkes chirruped in approval. Dumbledore looked at him in surprise.

"Et tu, Fawkes?"

The phoenix bobbed his head and Dumbledore's face fell. Even his pet had abandoned him.

"Your wand, Dumbledore," said Madam Bones, holding out her hand.

"Now really, Amelia, is that necessary? You know I would never—"

"I'm afraid I must insist," she said, cutting his protests short.

Dumbledore looked down at his wand, then at Fawkes again. He shook his head sadly. "Very well," he said, holding his head high as he surrendered his wand. "I can see we'll have to do this 'by the book,' as they say."

"That's right," said Madam Bones.

"Then so be it. It is your mistake to make—and it _is_ a mistake, Amelia. A tremendous mistake. These charges will never stand. Everything I did was necessary to safeguard the Stone, which had to be protected from Voldemort. He mustn't be allowed to return until Harry is prepared to face him. The future of our world depends upon it!"

As he listened to the headmaster trying to talk his way out of trouble, it suddenly occurred to Harry that the whole business with the troll and the third-floor corridor may have been contrived as some sort of bizarre training exercise for him. That was why Dumbledore had expected him to stop the troll. And perhaps Dumbledore had even hoped to lure the wraith of Voldemort to the castle so that Harry could fight that, too.

"… and I will be vindicated," declared Dumbledore as Madam Bones escorted him to the trapdoor. "Someday Voldemort will return and, no matter what else happens, you"—he looked over his shoulder at Harry—"will need me. Remember."

Then he was gone, and Madam Bones with him. Fawkes sang a short, doleful song for his misguided human before departing in a burst of flame. The only sound then was the occasional hiccup coming from the settee at the back of the room where Professor Trelawney had collapsed.

Harry looked at his drunken mentor and then at Hermione.

"I told you we should have skipped today's lesson," he said.


	11. Endings and Beginnings

There was no announcement at Hogwarts of the headmaster's arrest or of Professor Quirrell's death.

The news didn't reach most students until breakfast on Sunday morning, when the _Daily Prophet_ arrived bearing the headline DUMBLEDORE'S DOWNFALL. As Hermione read the article out loud to their fellow first years, Harry was disturbed to learn that Hagrid and several of their teachers, including all four Heads of Houses, were being investigated for their involvement in Dumbledore's plot to use the castle as a high-security vault. But the report didn't end there. The _Prophet_ had also gotten wind of the unidentified Dark creature that was loose in the forest, as well as allegations that Hagrid had brought a dragon to the school on Dumbledore's orders. Taken all together, it made for a searing exposé of misconduct by the headmaster and his staff.

On Monday, Professor Snape was called to the Ministry for questioning. He did not return. Now that Dumbledore's influence was in decline, Madam Bones had seized the opportunity to look into his Potions master's activities during the war, when Snape had served as one of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

This led to increased speculation amongst the students that the other Heads of Houses would be arrested too. Over the next several days, McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick were each called to the Ministry to answer questions, but unlike Snape, they all returned in time for dinner. Between their pivotal role in bringing Dumbledore's schemes to light and the fact that none of the obstacles they'd supplied to guard the Stone had posed any great threat to the safety of the children, the Ministry and school governors had decided to let them off with a warning.

Unfortunately, the governors' generosity did not extend to Hagrid. They ruled that both his three-headed dog and the alleged dragon posed significant threats to the safety of the children. And while some thought it understandable that the guileless gamekeeper would follow the headmaster's orders so blindly, the governors ultimately decided to sack him for it.

When Harry and Hermione saw the story in the _Prophet_ the next morning, they went to see their giant friend immediately.

"'S'no more'n I expected," said Hagrid as he packed his pots and pans into a trunk. "Been plannin' fer it, ever since Dumbledore …" He coughed gruffly. "Well, yeh don' have ter worry about me. I got a job lined up already."

Hermione wiped away her tears. "You do?"

"Yeah, I'm goin' ter Romania. Gonna work with the dragons. 'Spect I migh' get ter see little Norbert there an' all." He blew his nose in the tablecloth, then balled it up and dropped it in the trunk.

"That's … that's good, Hagrid," said Hermione, looking with disgust at the tablecloth-turned-handkerchief. "We're going to miss you."

"Yeah, we will," said Harry.

Hagrid sobbed and pulled them both into a rib-cracking hug. "I'll miss yeh, too. I wish I could stay an' see yeh finish Hogwarts. Yeh've got a bright future. Yeh both do. An' I hope yeh'll always keep in touch."

"We will," promised Harry.

The remainder of their visit was spent helping Hagrid pack. With the three of them working together, it wasn't long before all of his possessions were packed inside the magically expanded trunk.

"Now don' cry fer me," said Hagrid, his own eyes brimming with tears as they said goodbye. "I've got a feelin' this is all gonna work out fer the best."

After Hagrid left, things gradually returned to normal at Hogwarts—or as normal as they could be at a school of witchcraft and wizardry. Madam Bones's inquiry into Professor Quirrell's death had ended so there was no longer a Ministry presence at the castle. Her conclusion that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been killed by his own botched Dark spell caused quite a stir, but it was soon overshadowed by the upcoming Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

Harry's Divination lessons also continued the same as ever. The news that Professor Trelawney was a genuine Seer had not changed her approach to teaching one bit (though she did offer several apologies for "that damned prophecy"). Each week Harry would practice meditating, often with the aid of candles and incense or with new-age music playing softly in the background. He was unable to replicate his initial success, however. Everything he Saw now was cloudy and indistinct.

"I'm sure it will pass," said Trelawney after one particularly vexing session. "Your Inner Eye has just been thrown off by all that's happened. We'll work through it."

While Harry redoubled his efforts in Divination, Hermione turned her attention to their end-of-year exams. Before long she had drawn up color-coded study schedules for Harry and Neville, which she presented to them as Easter gifts. "And see, I've even left you some afternoons and weekends free," she said, pointing to the blocks labeled Leisure Time. "But don't make me regret it!"

As he spent nearly all of those free hours with Hermione, Harry sincerely hoped she did not regret them. Each afternoon they would take a private walk down by the lake, sometimes stopping to rest in the shade of their favorite beech tree. Those were some of Harry's favorite days at Hogwarts. Sitting with Hermione at his side and watching the giant squid drift lazily across the surface of the lake, he felt like the luckiest boy in the world. In one year, he'd gone from being alone and friendless to having Hermione and a place where he truly belonged. And Harry knew the best was yet to come. Like Hagrid said, he had a very bright future—and he'd Seen it.

~o~

Six weeks after his escape from Hogwarts, and 1,800 miles from Scotland, Lord Voldemort slithered up a steep and rocky hillside and hid himself in one of its many crevices as the rain started again. He would wait there until the storm passed.

He had done much waiting since that disastrous Halloween night so many years ago, and he would do much more. But what was another year—or another ten—to one who had conquered death? He could wait as long as required for he knew that one day his time would come: a faithful servant would return to him and he would rise again. Or so he comforted himself as the rain fell and the unseen sun set behind the hills that were now his home.

It was easy to take comfort in those early days, easy to believe that his patience would be rewarded, but as the days became weeks, and the weeks became months, doubt crept in—then despair. It had taken ten years last time: ten long, painful years of waiting before someone had been foolish enough to wander into his forest. Could he hope for a second stroke of such good fortune? The odds were surely against it. What few servants remained faithful to him were locked away and the rest had abandoned him. No others would dare venture into this remote wilderness. The local wizards had avoided these hills—the foothills of the Albanian Alps, the fabled Accursed Mountains—for centuries. Even Muggles could sense there was something wrong here—a darkness, an evil about the place. That was what made it such an excellent hiding spot.

But as the seasons passed and still no one came, he began to wish he had not hidden so well. If he were not so vulnerable, if he could perform a spell or two to strengthen himself, if he could trust that they would not betray him, he would have gone in search of his followers rather than wait for them in this rain-soaked forest. But he could not, in his present state, risk an encounter with those who had renounced him—not unless he could be certain of his reception.

So he waited. And so the years went by and his despair deepened. No one came, and no one ever would. He was alone. He was powerless. He was forgotten.

He was as good as dead.

~o~

Harry couldn't stop fidgeting: straightening his tie, flattening his hair, checking to see if Neville still had the ring…. He glanced at his godfather, but the double thumbs-up Sirius flashed him did nothing to calm his nerves. The ceremony should have begun by now and the anticipation was killing him. It was worse than the night he'd proposed, when Sirius had felt it necessary to give him a shot of firewhisky and a Calming Draught before pushing him out the door.

Two seats over from Sirius, Harry's unofficial-Uncle Remus smiled supportively. That was a little better. Beside Remus, Professor Trelawney sat dabbing at her watery eyes. As Harry watched, she cast a surreptitious charm to save her makeup.

He knew he should have confiscated her wand.

With half the wedding guests being Muggles, all witches and wizards had been advised that magic was strictly forbidden, but Trelawney never did mind breaking rules when it suited her. Luckily, most witches and wizards had the sense to keep their wands away and a few even knew how to comport themselves around Muggles. Minister Bones, for example, looked perfectly at ease in her Muggle pantsuit, though she had retained her trademark monocle.

That was an amazing sight in itself. Eight years ago, when Harry had reentered the magical world, it would have been unthinkable for a Minister of Magic to attend a Muggle-style wedding, but much had changed since then—and it had all started with Dumbledore's arrest. Emboldened by her successful prosecution of the most powerful wizard in Britain, Madam Bones had gone after the Minister of Magic next. Within a matter of days, she'd collected enough evidence to charge Fudge and his most powerful supporter, Lucius Malfoy, with a variety of crimes involving the giving and taking of bribes and, in Malfoy's case, the possession of Dark artifacts. The resulting surge in Madam Bones's popularity had made her a favorite to replace Fudge and, once elected, her first order of business had been to clean up the corruption and incompetence that had spread through every level of the Ministry, from the lowly Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office up to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was this campaign which uncovered the miscarriage of justice that had condemned Sirius to prison for more than a decade without a trial.

Now seven years after his first reunion with his long-lost godfather, Harry was still grateful for all Madam Bones had done for him, both by removing Dumbledore's influence from his life and by giving him the family he'd always wanted. Yes, Madam Bones had earned her invitation.

Harry did another quick check—his hair, his tie, the ring—then looked around for something to distract him from doing it again. His eyes fell on the last row, where Hagrid should have been sitting. Unfortunately, Harry's biggest friend had been unable to attend as he was still abroad—and still wanted for questioning concerning an Acromantula colony that had been found in the Forbidden Forest….

The music changed.

As everyone rose and looked to the back of the church, Professor Trelawney took the opportunity to cast a charm to tame Harry's stubborn hair. _And he'd wanted to confiscate her wand!_

"Thank you," he mouthed as she tucked her wand up the long sleeve of her dress and turned to watch the bridal procession.

Harry's heart swelled as Hermione appeared with her father. He had looked forward to this day for so long—since the moment he first laid eyes on her—that he couldn't believe it had finally come.

So much had happened, so much had changed in the intervening years, but Hermione remained the center of his universe. She was his first, best friend. His soulmate. The reason he pushed himself to be better: a better person, a better boyfriend, even a better student. Without her, he never would have become Head Boy. And without the Head Girl's encouragement, he never would he have discovered his talent and passion for teaching others.

Without Hermione, he never would have discovered his Gift in the first place, nor would he have had the motivation to develop it to the degree that he had. It had taken years of hard work, but, with Hermione at his side every step of the way, Harry had eventually gained some measure of control over his Inner Eye, replacing his inexplicable, unpredictable moments of Insight with a purposeful communion with fate. Of course, he had also found that though he might Look, fate would not necessarily see fit to share its designs with him. So, to Hermione's dismay, she could not use her boyfriend, and then fiancé, and now bridegroom, to unravel life's great mysteries. Nor could they use it to avoid all of life's trials and hardships. But Harry, for his part, was quite content with what little knowledge and guidance fate had given him. It had led him here, after all, to the front of this Muggle chapel, surrounded by family and friends. And anyway, there were still times, like now, as Hermione joined him at the altar and he gazed deep into the eyes of his lovely bride, that his mind was open to everything.


End file.
